


Oh, The Joys of Fraternity!

by ETNRL4L



Series: Mellark Legacy [2]
Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Baking, Child Abuse, Dark meat, F/M, High School Wrestling, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding, Why we need to remember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETNRL4L/pseuds/ETNRL4L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No excuse is valid for hurting each other. You're brothers. One day, you'll only have each other. You have to take care of each other always." This is a little glance into the way Peeta interacts with his brothers. The books were pretty vague here, so I decided to take a little creative license and fill in some blanks. This is a very short fic, but I'm completely open to suggestions. If there is anything a reader has wondered about Peeta and his brothers, post it in the comments and I will seriously consider it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Can't Say I Never Tried

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

"Will that be all today, Mrs. Gawalski?" The towheaded, stocky seventeen-year-old lopped what he knew to be a debonair smirk, locking his deep glacial blue eyes with those of the quickly reddening middle-aged woman across the counter from him.

The aforementioned gawked, seemingly trapped in the depths of oceanic blue in his eyes, before wrenching her gaze down to the neatly wrapped package in her hands. She cleared her throat, almost as if choking, before replying half-sternly through a bashful grin. "Hasn't your mother taught you it is crude to look that way at a married woman, young man? Honestly! You're a year younger than my Ivy!" Her pale blue eyes dashed around the bakery as if to reaffirm to herself that there were no other patrons to overhear their exchange. "What would people _think_ of you if they saw?"

The teen released a soft chuckle, leaning strong arms forward on the counter and recapturing her gaze. He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "No worse than they'd think of _you_ for the particular shade of rose creeping up your neck into your flushing cheeks or the fact that you haven't slapped me and scrambled out of our shop in an outraged tantrum."

Once one blonde, intrigued- if cautiously anxious- eyebrow shot up on her pale features, he knew he had her. She huffed out a defeated breath, the grin never leaving her lips as she shook her head. "I swear, you Mellarks will be the death of me," she conceded in a mock-annoyed tone, then quickly added, "Fine! Add a dozen rolls to my order. I never stick to my budget when I come in here and one of you three is manning the counter, anyway. You boys could probably figure out a way to sell water to the ocean."

She continued to rant half-heartedly as the young man wrapped the rest of her order, rang it up and accepted her payment. "I honestly don't even know where any of you get this little gift for persuasion from. Your father barely speaks two words to me when I come in here and your _mother_ …"

She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything further about the woman who'd given birth to the boy in front of her once she noticed the pained look flit almost imperceptibly across the oceans that were his eyes. Nothing needed to be said. Everyone in the district knew exactly who the baker's wife was. She decided to divert the conversation into something more pleasant- at least for her.

"Ivy's out of Reaping age after this year and she's been asking an awful lot about you lately, you know." Her eyes seemed to shimmer at the naughtiness of what they both knew she was proposing.

The grin was back full-force now as he retorted casually. "Yeah well, Shale Holloway is out of Reaping age this year and he's been in here asking a whole lot about Ivy too."

Her grin faltered as she sighed somewhat dejectedly at the prospect of her daughter courting and marrying the apothecary's son. She let her disappointment color her reply. "Yes. He's been coming to dinner and asked us for permission to take her out on walks around town… He's not a horrible suitor by any means, mind you, but he is certainly no Flax Mellark."

The smile on his face grew impossibly arrogant as he once again leaned forward, allowing his already deep baritone to become a rumble. "Well, I'm certainly sorry to disappoint two such lovely young ladies but I'm not out of the woods until after next year's Reaping and, unfortunately, all Merchant boys can't be me." He knitted his nearly flesh-colored eyebrows together, protruding his lower lip in his very best attempt at a sincerely attritional pout before his eyes dashed to the large display window at the front of the store, catching sight of the dark-haired girl making her way toward the bakery.

He immediately straightened, beginning to untie his apron. He shot an apologetic grin down at the older woman before him. "I'm sorry to cut our lovely conversation short, Mrs. Gawalski. But, I just remembered I have to run an errand for my folks. See you again on Tuesday?"

The oblivious woman only returned his smile, picking up her parcels as she headed towards the door of the shop. She didn't bother hiding the contemptuous sneer that spread across her features as the door bell chimed and in walked a tiny, thin Seam girl with eyes the color of steel. She simply shrunk into herself to attempt to round the girl on the way out of the shop as if she had leprosy, calling back over her shoulder, "Of course, Flax! See you next Tuesday!"

She might as well have directed the words at a deaf person for all the impact they made, though. The seventeen-year-old's attention was focused completely on the tiny, introverted girl standing a few feet in front of the counter, whose eyes darted around warily as if she felt completely out of place where she was standing.

He scrambled as quickly as he could out of his apron while sending her the most welcoming smile in his rather large arsenal. He beckoned her forth warmly, trying desperately not to scare her off- right before turning his head back towards the kitchen and screeching for his youngest brother to get his butt out there to take care of this customer.

 

* * *

Fawns were rare. You'd think they weren't, what with District Twelve being surrounded by woods and all, but they were.

Apparently, mothers bred their young further out from the limits of the fence then it took to get to the lake and back. Even the trek to the lake took half a day, so going beyond meant spending the night in the wilderness, outside the protection of the fence. Not even the steel-eyed, underfed fourteen-year-old was foolhardy or desperate enough to do _that_.

Therefore, when a yearling wandered under her blind in an oak, lost and grunting plaintively for its mother, she could have jumped for joy- had it not meant plummeting twenty feet to the forest floor and breaking her neck, that is. The four wild dogs she had to shoot down to keep her price weren't bad collateral either.

That fawn sure did make a lot of noise calling for its mother before she pierced its humongous black eye with an arrow. Of course, it was going to attract competition… or more game. It was really a matter of perspective to a hunter, wasn't it?

She'd needed to enlist Gale's help in getting the carcasses under the fence and the fawn to Rooba who'd given her a slightly lesser price for this one than the one she'd used to buy Prim's goat a couple of month's back- something about it being a doe and doe meat taking longer to cook or something.

She didn't particularly care.

She'd more than made up the difference in the price of the meat in what she was able to get for the magnificent pelt in trade at the Hob. She'd gotten new shoes for Prim (who seemed to be growing twice as fast as _she_ was for some odd reason), a ten by ten yard spool of cotton fabric which could be used for anything from bandages to making clothing if dyed by her mother and several spools of thread. Add to that, the week of soups she'd traded with Greasy Sae for in exchange for the two dogs she could claim and she was sitting pretty.

And even after splitting the money she'd gotten from the butcher for the doe with Gale for his help, she still had enough coin to get her family a treat after she picked up the venison steaks that were always part of the deal when they brought in a deer.

She decided to treat her mother and baby sister to a loaf of bread- real bread, still warm, from the bakery. It was such a rare treat for them. But, then again, fawns were rare, as well.

The thought of Prim's eyes widening in excitement at the sight of real bread permeated her consciousness so thoroughly that she was barely aware of herself making the journey from the Seam to the Town Square and up the stairs to the bakery.

She only truly became aware of her surroundings once she was through the door and felt the glare of some random Merchant woman as she passed her on the way out of the shop. The way the woman shied away from her and out the door was a stark reminder of why she hated coming to this part of the district unless it was through their back doors to trade.

Seam and Merchant _did not_ mix. She didn't belong here.

She realized she'd been frantically looking around for an escape route when a kind, deep voice broke through her frenzied thoughts of flight, causing her eyes to meet the darkest blue imaginable that wasn't actually black.

She'd seen Flax Mellark around school before. He was a year above Gale and very popular. In fact, he was the only boy she ever heard girls giggle and talk about in the hallways as much as they did about her best friend.

The girls at her school considered him handsome and she figured he probably was to someone who was looking. His hair was such a pale shade of yellow, it was easy to see his name choice wasn't exactly taxing on his parents at the time of his birth. He wasn't as tall as Gale. None of the Mellark men were particularly tall, not even the baker who was fully grown. But, they were all large-boned, broad-shouldered and bulky. They had the kind of frame that could hold ridiculous amount of muscle-mass if they dedicated the time it took to gaining it. Since they were Merchant, she figured they probably ate well enough to achieve it if they tried.

Flax looked like he was already halfway there. He was built like a train. Even though he was moving his large arms in the most nonthreatening way conceivable as he removed his apron, she couldn't help but swallow hard at the thought that he could crush her like an insect with a flex of his forearm and bicep.

"How can we help you? You can come closer. I promise you I don't bite and if you've heard otherwise, I'll go to my grave denying it… unless, of course, you've heard of my biting as a good thing. In which case…"

She almost let her lips quirk up into a smile at that. This boy didn't behave towards her as she expected a Merchant boy to- as she'd experienced other Merchant boys behaving towards her. It both perplexed and intrigued her. She found herself moving inexorably closer to the counter.

She froze in panic when he suddenly turned his head toward a door behind him and screeched for his younger brother to come help her.

Her stomach dropped. She knew who this boy's younger brother was. She'd been trying to avoid him for three years. She'd been trying to avoid the guilt.

However, when the reply came from what she supposed was the kitchen; she actually did smile _and_ had to suppress a laugh. It was clear the younger boy did not intend to come help her. He was obviously busy doing something else back there.

At least, she was getting a nice show if not any service. She did find the exchange between siblings hilariously entertaining. That is, until Flax noticeably paled at the grocery list of girls his brother insinuated he was trying to escape his shift at the counter to go see.

Every single girl he mentioned was Seam.

This took her aback a moment. She'd never for an instant thought a Merchant boy would even spare a sideways glance at a Seam girl- especially Flax Mellark. This was the heir to the bakery, for God's sake! Their firstborn son! Any girl, Seam _or_ Merchant would chop off an arm to be with a man who could guarantee a full stomach and a safe warm bed for her and their children.

Why would this boy even consider a Seam girl? And the way his brother made it sound, he _only_ considered Seam girls! Was he insane? Had he met his own mother? That crazy harpy would beat him within an inch of his life if she ever found out about that! Everyone knew she beat them! Everyone knew she hated anyone from the Seam! Did he have some kind of death wish?

So engrossed was she in ruminating this little revelation that she missed whatever it was Flax told her when she explained she could come back later, before he furiously commanded his brother to come to the counter, then stormed out the front door of the bakery.

She followed him with wide, shocked eyes until he was out of sight of the large display window, then turned her head back to the other side of the counter. Her gray eyes locked with the fluid azures belonging to Peeta Mellark.

She wasn't sure she'd ever seen this boy angry before.

 

* * *

He loved working on wedding cakes. Even if this was one of the saddest toastings he'd ever attend, he'd still enjoy working on the cake.

The cobbler's daughter was marrying the tailor's son tomorrow and his father had left him in charge of decorating their cake.

This girl _did not_ want to marry the tailor's son.

He knew her fairly well. He was in the same year at school as her younger sister. He knew the bride's younger sister even better. She had really soft lips. She'd told him her sister really wanted to wait for Flax but Talon had asked for her hand and their parents had forced the issue, stating the old adage, 'What if he's reaped and you loose your chances at either of them?'

He hadn't had the heart to tell her that her older sister was nothing in the range of his oldest brother's usual palate of taste in women either way. That or his normal fourteen-year-old hormones decided the point was moot and therefore, he just kept making out with her instead.

He was able to gleam some useful information for the design of the cake during their date, though. He learned the cobbler's oldest daughter loved horses and her most cherished childhood trinket was a music box in the form of a carrousel her parents gave her.

His heart went out to the girl upon hearing that. She should have been born in District Ten. At least then, she might have had a chance to see a real horse- maybe even ride one. As it stood, she would likely never see a horse and she was marrying a man she had barely ever spoken to. It sucked.

Well, if she was going to be wrangled into a loveless marriage, he'd make sure she'd have one last beautiful memory before she was relegated to her fate. For this reason, he sat on his haunches before the cake splayed on the large metallic prep table in the kitchen of his parents' bakery, intricately frosting the reigns on the fondant horses he'd carefully cut out and shaped all around the circumference of the cake to make a perfect replica of the bride's carousel music box.

He was infinitely grateful for his amazingly steady hands when, after listening to Flax flirt nonsensically with Mrs. Gawalski, who could easily be their mother- for twenty minutes- the bell to the front door jingled and he spoke to whoever came in so softly he couldn't make out what he was saying through the door. That is, until the shrill tenor rang clear through to the kitchen and startled the living daylights out of him.

"Peeta! I need to leave on an emergency errand! You need to come out here and help out this customer!"

He let out a slow breath through his nose, gently backing the icing bag away from the cake before backing away himself and turning to the door. He made sure to project both his frustration at being interrupted while doing what his brother knew to be extremely intricate detailing on a cake and just the right amount of anger to get his point across. "You can't ditch your shift, Flax! I'm not your relief tonight- Rye is. Until he gets here from wrestling practice, you'll just have to deal. I'm not exactly playing around back here!"

He could almost see his brother run his hand through his hair in frustration before the huffed response came. "You can stop what you're doing for ten minutes to help out _one_ customer! I really need to do this! Get out here!"

He had been lifting the bag back toward the cake after his first response but lowered it, violently snapping his head back toward the door to spit out, "No, Flax! I'm already missing wrestling practice to finish this! I'm not covering for you again! You know what? Maple Braun, Spruce Englethorpe, Kalmia Rosen, that Inglehouse girl or whoever else the flavor of this week is can wait until Rye gets here to relieve you! I need to finish this!"

He immediately went back to work on the icing after his rant, letting his words sink in, which apparently they had, since he didn't hear any further conversation from the front of the store for a couple of seconds. That is, until a somewhat timid female voice reached his ears. "I-I could always come back later if it's more convenient…"

Okay. There was just no way that was who he thought it was. She would never set foot in here, would she? Not through the front door! Not as a customer!

She only ever came here to trade squirrels with his dad, always accompanied by that Gale kid who could be either her cousin or her boyfriend. His stomach lurched involuntarily at the jealousy that last prospect evoked.

And even in the remote circumstance that she was actually in their shop, what had he ever done to his oldest brother that he was making him go to the counter and _talk_ to her?

Flax was one of three people in the Universe who actually _knew_ who and what this girl was to him!

His stomach completely dropped once his brother's veiled threat rang loud and clear though the door.

"Don't be silly! He'll be right out to help you with whatever you need. He'll have to explain it later to Mom if he doesn't." Flax made sure to enunciate that last part emphatically before continuing. "I'll be back in a few minutes... Peeta! Get out here or so help me..."

Peeta literally flung the icing bag across the kitchen in frustrated rage. There was no 'explaining' anything to their mother and Flax was fully aware of that. The only 'explanations' that ever took place between them and their mother involved her taking out whatever frustration she had on their hides and them being grateful they were built sturdily enough to withstand the onslaught. Well, that and trying to hide the bruises the next day at school, of course. Although, everyone knew where all three boys received their bruises. They all wrestled, but wrestling didn't leave the welts and even burns they sometimes sported.

Using her against him now was a low blow. They never ratted each other out to her… _never_. And he'd even yelled in that tone only Flax out of the three of them was capable of achieving- the one that made him sound like _her_. Even _Flax_ hated that he could sound like her when he was angry enough!

Peeta choked down the suffocating feeling of betrayal and stepped out of the kitchen into the front of the bakery. Once he saw her, turned away to follow his brother's form as the older boy hastily retreated out the front door of the bakery, he found his mouth had gone completely dry.

Huh. That was odd. Wasn't the mouth's primary function to produce saliva so people could chew? He hated his stupid traitorous mouth!

Once she started turning her head back in his direction, he felt an overwhelming urge to flee. But, of course, he found his muscles wouldn't respond to his frantically shouted inner commands to move. He hated his stupid traitorous muscles!

Then her beautiful steel eyes locked with his and nothing in his body responded to his commands anymore. In fact, the last rational thought he had before his mind became a mush lost in the depths of gray that were Katniss Everdeen's eyes was:

_'I **really** hate my stupid, traitorous oldest brother!'_

 

* * *

After what felt like an eternity of staring into each other's eyes- but was in actuality only a few seconds- one misinterpreting the intensity as anger directed at her for her inconvenient presence in his shop and the other unable to stare at her with anything _but_ intensity due to his elation at having her there, Katniss dropped her gaze to the counter. Her brows knitted together in a determined scowl as she stated firmly, "I'd like one loaf of bread."

Since he was so entranced by the way her mouth moved as she spoke, he was slow on the uptake as to what she had actually spoken. It took her looking up at him questioningly to actually get his body's motor functions to react in compliance with what the girl before him (the girl who headlined his dreams) had asked of him.

Luckily, he had wrapped and rung up bread so many times in his life, the function was completely perfunctory for him at this point and needed almost no use of major neuron interaction. He was fairly certain higher brain function was lost to him for the time being. He hadn't even spoken a word to her. Was he still capable of speech? That was higher brain function, right?

The jolt that raced from his hand through the rest of his body from the brief moment the skin of her hand made contact with his palm while handing him the money for the bread managed to make his breath hitch and he went completely rigid, clenching his fist so tight he left angry red half moons where his nails bit into his palms. Of course, she never noticed. She'd kept her eyes adamantly burning a hole through the counter the whole time.

Once she'd handed him the money she picked up her parcel, turned heel and made what was almost a mad dash through the door.

The moment he saw the door shut, Peeta ran to the kitchen, braced both hands on the metal prep table and brought his forehead down on it with such force, he was completely bewildered to still be conscious after doing it.

He was such an idiot!

 

* * *

"Hey! Where's the fire? He wasn't a jerk to you, was he? You know he'll have to answer to me if he was, right?"

Katniss hadn't even been fully aware of where she was going until Flax's voice broke into her consciousness, causing her to pause abruptly and turn toward where he stood poised to reenter the bakery. The meaning of his statement finally registered.

Did the way she'd run out of the bakery make it look like Peeta had mistreated her as a customer? Had she managed to get him in trouble yet again? She didn't know his older brother but he had seemed kind enough. Would he really tell their mother about his reluctance to come out and help her? Would she be responsible for yet another one of his beatings?

She found she couldn't stomach the idea of that. She already owed that boy a debt that she had yet to figure out how to repay. There was no way she was going to conscience his receiving more of that witch's abuse as a result of her doing.

"No!" The desperation in her voice surprised even her. She tried to level her tone as she added, "He was perfectly nice to me. He's always nice to everyone. I just need to get home while the bread is still warm." With that, she turned and dashed away in the direction of the Seam. That was enough of a half truth not to ring false, after all. A Merchant boy probably had no idea that her family would eat this bread cold or stale or in whatever other state she brought it home. This was real bread!

Flax let out an exasperated huff before entering the bakery, heading straight for the kitchen. He couldn't help the sad grin that split his features at seeing his baby brother hunched over the metal prep table with his forehead resting against its cool flat surface. He leaned down right beside him, resting his weight on one arm as he brought the other up to rub commiserative circles on the younger boy's back.

He didn't stop when the fourteen-year-old huffed indignantly and attempted to shrug him off, preferring instead to question softly, "You couldn't even bring yourself to talk to her, could you?"

Peeta braced himself on his forearms and lifted his head to lock eyes with his brother in a venomous sneer. "How dare you threaten to tell Mom on me to force me to go out there! How could you? You know how I feel about her! I trusted you with how I feel about her and you do _this_ to me!"

Flax couldn't help cringing at the hurt in his little brother's eyes or the way his voice started faltering toward the end of his statement. He continued rubbing his back soothingly, allowing both the commiseration and attrition he felt to soften his normally deep speaking voice. "Come on, Peeta. You must have known somewhere deep down inside I would never turn you in to Mom. If anything, I'd take a beating for you. We both know I've done it before. Not to mention, _I_ was the one ditching my shift. There was no real leverage to that threat at all. If Katniss hadn't spoken, you would have realized that and called my bluff right away- told me to shove it. You just don't seem to think straight when she's around."

At this point, his eyes shifted from his little brother's to the boy's forehead, widening at the sight of a nasty bruise forming there. "Did you slam your head into the table?"

The younger blonde let out a self-deprecating scoff. "Like you said, I don't think straight when she's around. Maybe I thought if I hit it hard enough I'd rattle something loose and I'd actually be able to function like myself."

Flax clucked his tongue, straightening and pulling his little brother by the arm toward the refrigerator. He pulled a chunk of ice from the freezer and settled it in one of the kitchen towels, pressing it against the deepening bruise on his forehead. He looked down with honest concern at the boy. "I know it was a dirty trick, Peeta. But, it was the only thing I could come up with in the spur of the moment. Honestly, when are you ever going to have a chance like that to actually talk to her again? She never comes in here and even if she does, she's always with Gale. I can't wrap my mind around this problem you're having with this _one_ particular girl. You're not old enough to date according to Mom and Dad's rules and yet you've already managed to go out with half a dozen girls behind their back. So, it can't be that you're afraid of getting caught or getting in trouble or even a beating from Mom. You've already managed to get one of _those_ for her. We both know you're not the slightest bit shy and if being around me and Rye the last few years has taught you anything- you're certainly not naive. What is it about this girl that makes it so hard for you to talk to her?"

Peeta just stared at his oldest brother for a moment as if really analyzing his response (and maybe even himself) before responding with a shrug. "I like the girls I go out with, but I wouldn't really care if they turned me down. Half the time, I expect them to turn me down and am completely floored when they don't. I think I'm either better-looking, more charming or funnier than I think I am."

Flax had to laugh at this, throwing in his two cents. "My vote's for funnier. You're too scrawny to be good-looking and if anyone is charming out of the three of us- it's definitely me."

Peeta rolled his eyes dramatically adding, "Don't forget your overwhelming humility. After all, you would never want anyone implying you're a self-absorbed blowhard, now would you?"

The older teen chuckled, walking leisurely back to sit at one of the stools by the table. "Perish the blasphemous thought!"

Peeta sat down the towel with the ice, reaching down to pick up the icing bag from where he'd thrown it. He wiped the tip with a clean towel and set to work on finishing the cake for the toasting tomorrow. He didn't bother looking up from his work as he directed his comment at his brother. "Shouldn't you be in the front? Mom and Dad are about to get back from getting this week's supplies from the train. You're going to get in trouble."

Flax only shrugged one shoulder, responding nonchalantly, "I can hear if anyone comes in from here and Rye's about to come home from practice. Plus, you were saying about why you can't talk to Dream Girl…"

The fourteen-year-old spared him a rueful sideways glance before spitting out, "The girls I've gone out with have all been nice, but I don't really feel anything for them, so they can't hurt me- not really. Katniss can hurt me. She's the only girl who's ever been able to make me feel anything that wasn't completely superficial and transitional. If I were to ever speak to her and she were to turn me down…" He let out a slow rasping breath, shuddering at the mere thought of that, "Let's just say, I'd rather never talk to her than have to weather the aftermath of her rejection."

"You're a pathetic coward!"

He was so shocked at the abruptness of his brother's candid outburst; he snapped his head to face him. He couldn't hold his recriminating gaze once he'd found it, however. "You're right." His voice was almost a whisper. "But I _am_ trying to work up the courage to… If I can make myself strong enough to accept it if she doesn't want me, I could talk to her. We could maybe be friends. I- She just has this effect on me… I need to become stronger…"

Flax felt sorry for the kid. He'd honestly thought this was just an infatuation he'd get over once the right opportunity or another girl came along, but it was only getting worse with time.

His little brother was hosed.

He got up out of the stool and slapped the younger boy one last time on the back condolingly, as he made his way out to the front, leaving the lovesick teen alone to finish his icing.

Peeta concentrated hard on the detailing of the cake. He didn't want to think about how beautiful Katniss had looked or the jolt he'd felt when their hands grazed one another earlier. He didn't want to acknowledge that he was grateful to his brother for forcing him out there in the first place. After all, what kind of sick person would acknowledge that a terrifying, horrible trick turned out to be the most exhilarating thing to have happened to him in the last three years?

And even worse than any of that, he couldn't think of Katniss because the realization had struck him that if it had taken something this cruel to force them to so much as interact with each other, what would it take to get him to actually _speak_ to her? Even the thought caused a brief involuntary shudder. He couldn't think of any of that.

All he could do was hope whenever that unspeakably horrible moment presented itself, he'd finally be strong enough to voice what he'd waited all these years to say.


	2. A Tribute's Commentary on the Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first 3000 words or so of this references the Tribute Parade depicted in Chapter 16 of Anla'Shok's fanfiction 'Showdown: No Holding Back'. I highly recommend you read this mind-blowing Tribute Parade before reading this installment. The rest is my attempt to give faces to the brothers Peeta lost when District Twelve was fire bombed.

The baker heaved an exhausted if bemused breath upon reentering his living room from the downstairs bakery, a tray containing four small glasses of milk and a plate of cookies grasped firmly in his hands. His liquid blue eyes traveled to where his two youngest sons grappled with each other on the floor.

Tonight, he was infinitely grateful his wife had preferred remaining downstairs running things rather than looking after their boys and the shoe-store owner's little one during this year's Capitol-obligated viewing of the Opening Ceremonies.

For once, he felt a sense of relief rather than abandonment at the woman's detachment toward her own children upon setting the tray down on the end table next to his snickering eight-year-old and their giggling five-year-old neighbor. If his wife were privy to this little scuffle, both boys would've already been spanked or worse for fighting in front of company.

He couldn't help the frown that found its way unto his countenance at the absurdity of that, however. A five-year-old girl was not _company_ to anyone but his overly dramatic wife and corporeally disciplining the boys for acting like boys was ridiculous. He desperately wished his guilt-ridden conscience would permit him to actually voice this to the woman he'd married.

However, as it stood, his twisted psyche dictated he was deserving of watching his beloved sons go through unfair and, at times, even sadistic punishments for the most infinitesimal childhood transgressions. Silently witnessing his beautiful sons cry out in the clutches of their own mother was his comeuppance- his retribution for his inability to give her the love a wife deserved… a love squandered on another before they even married.

He resolutely pushed those dire thoughts to the back of his mind, making his way over to his skirmishing boys. He reached down to pull them apart effortlessly, though they still grabbed at each other and interchanged daggers with nearly matching blue eyes as he lifted them to their feet about two yards apart.

"All right, do I even want to know how this started?"

The oldest blonde wasn't even attempting to sound miffed. It had already been a long day at the bakery. He was far too tired to feign anger when both boys looked this adorable when this livid.

"He sat in my spot!" Came the curiously almost perfectly synchronized response from both children. They'd even managed to choreograph the shooting up of their tiny accusing index fingers in each other's direction perfectly. This, of course, was accompanied by an instant, matching chorus of, "Did not! You're lying! Daddy, tell him that's _my_ spot!"

The elder Mellark male brought up a hand to rub the bridge of his nose briefly, allowing a smirk to split his haggard features as he turned to his still-smiling eldest son on the couch. "Flax, some help here..."

The eight-year-old sobered immediately, his oceanic eyes widening in apprehension a clear indicator that he had absolutely no inclination to incriminate either of his younger siblings as the instigator of the amusing little spat. Upon noting the older boy's reaction, the boys' father repeated more forcefully, adding a hint of threat to his inflection, "Flax, that wasn't really a request."

The towheaded eldest boy shrunk into himself, diverting his eyes to the floor, barely whispering, "They both just went to sit on the same spot in front of the television and started shoving each other to move when neither wanted to budge. Then, they started hitting each other and fell to the floor. That's where you walked in."

The boys' father spared one last commiserating look at his oldest before turning back to his other sons, both of whom were sending recriminating glares at their older brother as if he was to blame for their inability to control their tempers.

"Peeta, Rye, you both know fighting is not allowed in this house." At both boys' instant attempt at justifying their actions, their father quickly added, lifting a stern halting hand, "I don't want to hear your excuses for why you were fighting. No excuse is valid for hurting each other. You're brothers. One day, you'll only have each other. You have to take care of each other always. Fighting _will not_ be tolerated in this house. Is that clear?"

Once the boys mumbled their disgruntled assent, the baker continued. "Now if either of you boys wants a cookie and a glass of milk during the broadcast, you will apologize to your brother for hitting him and sit peacefully for the rest of the evening."

One would have thought he'd asked them to eat the mud in the pigsty outside by the disgusted way both their little noses scrunched up at the notion of apologizing. Nevertheless, both boys knew full well that having cookies and milk was a rare treat. Therefore, they turned to each other without meeting gazes and whispered what were conspicuously forced, insincere apologies before heading towards the sofa.

To the eldest blonde's relief, upon seeing his younger brothers approach, Flax scooted himself and Delly to the center of the sofa so that Peeta could sit next to her while Rye sat next to him. This effectively created a buffer between the quarrelling younger boys.

The baker stared at his oldest boy with something between pride and gratitude. Even at this young age, he'd already taken on the role of mediator for his two younger brothers, who always seemed at odds over one thing or another.

He caught the boy's deep blue eyes, sending him an appreciative smile as he turned on the television and headed for the door. "Okay, Flax. You're in charge up here while your mother and I finish up and close downstairs. You can each have a cookie, but make sure not to spill any milk on anything or I won't answer for your mother…"

With that, he walked out of the living room, leaving the four children to their own devises.

"Thanks a lot for squealing, Flax!"

"Oh, shut up, Rye! Who told you two to start fighting in the first place! Are you so dumb you thought no one would catch you? What does it matter where you sit, anyway?"

The answer to his query actually came from his youngest brother at the opposite end of the couch. "It doesn't matter to 'im where he sits at all! He was just doin' it to bother _me_! I wanted to be in the middle 'cause I can't see the TV from here as well. I'm too little. He knows that and he just likes botherin' me!"

The Mellark middle child strained forward to send a sneer his younger brother's way. "I got here first!"

Flax didn't allow his baby brother to respond before retorting in disbelieving outrage. "I was right here, Rye! I saw you both try to sit at the same time! Neither of you was first! You can't bully Peeta out of the way just because you're bigger! Only cowards beat on people who are smaller and weaker than they are! How'd you like it if I shoved you out of the way whenever I wanted something. I'm bigger and stronger than you. I could do it."

At the pitch and spite in his older brother's voice, Rye couldn't help but sulk back into the sofa, bringing up his short arms to cross over his chest with an obstinate huff. He knew better than to cross Flax.

The cherub-faced strawberry blonde could no longer contain herself. "This is why I love comin' here! You guys are so much fun! My brother doesn't do anythin' but cry, eat and wet 'imself. I wish you guys were my brothers." The five-year-old was almost bouncing in her chair with effervescence.

"You could've said somethin' to my daddy for me, Delly. You're my friend. You're supposed to be on my side."

The cheerful little girl turned an impossibly large smile at her friend, speaking in what she believed to be an attritional voice, though she was so perky, everything she said sounded bubbly. "I'm sorry, Peeta. It was just so funny watchin' you rollin' round on the floor like that. I forgot to stop laughin'. I'll help you next time- promise!"

The youngest boy just knitted his blonde brows together in honest bewilderment at how someone could possibly forget to stop laughing. He scrutinized his smiling friend. "Never mind, Delly."

"Why are you even here, anyway? Don't you have your _own_ family?"

"Rye!" Came the chorused recriminating arraignment from both the boy's siblings.

The five-year-old sitting further down the couch from him could not have been more oblivious to his rudeness, however. She simply shrugged both shoulders, answering casually. "My baby brother's sick, so Mommy has to stay with 'im while Daddy runs the store. They sent me here so I don't get sick, too."

She seemed to have more on her mind but was distracted by the Capitol seal appearing on the screen, then fading out to be replaced by a smiling Claudius Templesmith, who announced the start of the Tribute Parade. Then, the camera panned out to show a large set of wide carved gates opening.

All four children gawked fixedly at the television set as through the gates emerged four of the most magnificent white horses they'd ever seen, pulling a gold and ivory chariot that gleamed ethereally in the late afternoon son of the Capitol.

Delly oohed when the camera panned to the female Tribute form District One and she noticed her long shimmering silver robe and the myriad of gems that decorated her auburn hair. All three boys rolled their eyes at her. That is, until the same girl hiked up her dress, jumped on one of the stallions, cut it loose with her short sword and dashed towards the City Circle. She then raced back to her district's chariot, circled it twice and galloped along side it to their respective resting spot within the City Circle.

The Mellark boys had but a second to exchange a wide-eyed look that clearly conveyed their shared opinion- ' ** _that_** _was definitely unexpected_ '- before their eyes were wrenched back to the screen by the sound of ferociously growling... _bears_?

"What _is_ this?" Peeta gasped out, watching the humongous beasts pull the District Two chariot, which held one of the most stunningly beautiful girls he'd ever laid eyes upon and one of the scariest-looking male Tributes as well. The boy was a giant!

All four children shrieked when the ridiculously muscled goliath roared, lifting his enchanting district partner over his head as she lay limply in his grasp. It almost looked as if he was offering her as sacrifice to the Games!

"This is really messed up! The designers who told these kids to do this are sick in the head! Why are there bears pulling that chariot? We should get Mom and Dad! I don't think we're supposed to watch this by our- Oh God! What are _those_?"

There wasn't much chance any of the other children were going to acknowledge Flax's disgruntled ranting once _those_ made their way onto the screen- mainly because _those_ were a pair of gigantic, green, long-legged, mutt spiders. The creatures crawled on webs of colored optic fibers being dispensed from a large sphere of woven wire rolling several yards in front of them. They dragged a futuristic-looking chariot, holding the District Three Tributes who were dolled up to look like robots. Sparks of electricity were even flying off them.

"Awesome! I wonder if they can really get shocked by their own costumes!" This time, Rye's older brother managed to pry his eyes away from the spectacle to acknowledge him. There was an infinity of excited anxiety in those oceanic pools as he voiced his awed response. "I wouldn't be surprised if they did! It looks like anything goes in this year's freak show!"

"Why are cows pullin' that big shell?" Peeta let out a loud chortle before gasping out in addition, "What's the boy supposed to be? A cockroach?"

Flax found his baby brother's laughter so infectious; he couldn't help snickering, as well. "The girl's a mermaid, so I think he's a crab, Peeta… a very stupid-looking crab…" Of course, this only caused the youngest Mellark to double-over in renewed bouts of hysteria.

"Puppies!" Delly's delighted squeal and enthusiastically clapping hands, brought all blue eyes back to the parade, where six huskies pulled a sleigh carrying the District Five Tributes. "I love puppies!" The boys didn't really have much to say about these Tributes, so they just allowed her to gush over the dogs.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, "Oh! Eeww! Gross! No, no, no!" And Peeta found himself with his lap inhabited by a shivering five-year-old, whose weight he honestly could not support and who was pointedly attempting to bury her face in the crook of his neck. She was seriously crushing him!

"Oof! Delly! Ouch! My stomach!" Oddly, he found he couldn't find it within him to shove her off when she was this terrified. Therefore, he tried a different tactic to get her to relinquish her death grip on his shoulders. He glanced at the screen frantically, groaning out. "They're not so bad, Delly. They're just mice…"

"No they're not, Peeta! They're huge rats and they're gross!"

There really was no arguing there. The District Six chariot was being pulled by eight giant, white, mutt lab mice in large, clear hamster balls. Honestly! What was the person who thought this up on? It could've been anything. Mind-altering concoctions were readily available in the Capitol…

Peeta heaved a sigh of defeat. Not even the Tributes on this chariot would divert the terrified girl's attention. The boy was some kind of bird and the girl was wearing the kind of outfit he'd seen the doctor that came into the bakery wearing. It looked wrong on such a big, bulky girl. He relegated himself to prying one arm loose to pat his friend on the back soothingly. "Okay, Delly. I'll just tell you when the next one comes out so you can get off me." The little girl just sniffled, nodding into his shoulder.

Flax sent a condoling glance at his baby brother before turning back to the screen. He quickly screeched optimistically, "Okay, Delly! These are cute! And you'll like the costumes! I think they're dolls or something…"

At the mention of dolls, the little strawberry blonde's eyes lifted cautiously to the screen and widened in renewed excitement. She hopped off her friend, lurching forward to admire the District Seven chariot. Eight mutt beavers sat on a smaller chariot, leading the one holding the Tributes. The animals' tails pressed buttons, which activated a mechanism, turning the wooden wheels on both chariots. The Tributes themselves were painted and costumed to resemble puppets. To the four children, this was the best chariot they'd ever seen!

They all let out disappointed moans when the screen moved away from that so very interesting display to show a close-up of... _six goats_?

"Oh, come on! I can go next door and see a goat! And what are they wearin'? Can they even breathe under all that junk?" Peeta rubbed ruefully at what he had no way of knowing were likely bruised ribs.

"And are those deer? What kind of deer are _those_? Well, at least the girl's pretty and the boy looks like he could lift a house…" The Mellark middle child was quickly loosing interest in this parade, especially when the District Ten chariot emerged through the gates, pulled by the slowest, dullest bulls imaginable.

Things definitely picked up in the three boys' opinion, however, when the girl Tribute with the bizarre colored hair jumped on one of the bulls, spurring it on so that it buckled wildly. Flax's face twisted in horror when the boy Tribute had to propel himself from the chariot to avoid being trampled by the spooked animals. Eventually, they had to sedate the bulls to calm them. "I guess they don't plan on letting any of this get too lame this year, huh guys?"

When he only found flabbergasted stares directed at the screen upon sparing a quick glance at his younger brothers and neighbor, his eyes inevitably flitted back to the screen out of sheer curiosity. Said eyes instantly grew to the size of saucers at what the District Eleven boy was doing.

Both District Eleven Tributes were dressed in fruit- only fruit- and the male Tribute was snatching piece after piece from the female tribute's lower body and juggling them. Every orange, every pear, every apple the boy took for his little juggling demonstration, effectively stripped his district partner of what little coverage their designer had afforded her to begin with.

By the time the boy had a dozen pieces of fruit in the air, the girl's legs were completely exposed. It was difficult to tell which the crowds were cheering on louder: the stripped girl or the talented boy.

"Well, at least he didn't try to juggle the cherries covering her chest…" Even at the tender age of eight, Flax found his mouth growing dry at what that boy had done with his partner's fruit. He had no idea why, however.

"Our district's always the worst! Look at 'em! They just look dirty!" Peeta was already off the couch and making a beeline for the cookies. At least, they'd get a special treat out of having to watch this.

Of course, Rye decided he wanted the exact same cookie his little brother was reaching into the plate for.

Flax spent the next five minutes prying his two younger siblings off each other while trying desperately to keep their parents downstairs from hearing the raucous.

* * *

_**Almost exactly a decade later…** _

"Gale! Slow down! What's your rush, anyway? For that matter, why are we heading for town and why'd you trade that last rabbit for a bottle of liquor with Ripper? You don't drink! Seriously, Gale! Slow down, or I'm not coming with you!"

The diminutive dark-haired girl wasn't sure that threat would even be effective. Yes, they were best friends, but he'd certainly leave her behind if she hindered his business affairs. She'd leave him. Was he even transacting any business anymore, though? It'd been a decent haul today for a half day out in the woods. They weren't able to go out far to hunt due to them having to get back for the Capitol-obligated viewing of the Opening Ceremonies, but they made out well from checking their snare lines. They'd traded a dozen rabbits and three fat raccoons at the Hob. She had no idea what the tall boy was up to now. She was aiming to find out, though.

To her amazement and gratitude, her best friend stopped upon hearing her ultimatum, allowing her comparatively shorter legs to carry her the dozen yards to where he waited impatiently for her to join him.

"You're slow, Catnip." Was all he afforded her before starting up again in the same direction.

She clucked her tongue in annoyance at the unfair insult, keeping pace now that she'd caught up. "Let's trade legs and see who's faster. Or, better yet, how about you tell me where we're going."

The steel-eyed older boy allowed a mysterious grin to split his features before responding aloofly. "We're running an errand."

Katniss submerged the desire to sucker-punch the kid right in the middle of his massive back, preferring instead to pry further into their destination. "I know I'm not a courier and I'm fairly certain you would have told me if you changed jobs, so why exactly are we running this errand?"

"Because they are paying us for the convenience of not having to go to the Hob themselves."

This actually made more sense than the sum of its words. Most people from town wouldn't be caught dead in the Hob. That only left the question of who exactly asked Gale to get them a bottle of liquor.

Upon making it onto the town square and pretty much getting swallowed up by the throngs of people congregating there to watch the Opening Ceremonies on the large screen, the small Seam girl became aware of something alarming. They weren't taking their usual circuitous route along the back of town to the back doors of the Merchant homes. They were heading toward the front of the buildings dead-on.

Her usual panic at this realization was somewhat mitigated by the knowledge that her best friend seemed to be leading them confidently to a prearranged point in the square. This, however, did not mean she wasn't going to voice her discomfort. "Why are we meeting these people in the town square? We don't usually do this so publicly, Gale!"

At the edge of fear in her voice, the tall Seam boy finally broke, turning fully to explain. "Some Merchant kids asked me to buy them a bottle of liquor. They don't want their parents to find out and, quite honestly, it's not really in our best interest if their folks found out, either. So, we're going to give them the bottle and they're going to pay us out here in the square. It'll be quick and easy and we can go home."

The wrinkling of her nose in distaste was a distinct contradiction to the whole 'being easy' theory. "Gale, you know I hate dealing with those spoiled Merchant kids. Well, except Madge, that is." At the impatient roll of his steel eyes, she quickly added, "But, she's different!"

"They're all _different_ , Catnip." The older boy huffed out annoyed. "They're all also who we're going to be dealing with when we trade in five to ten years. Their parents aren't going to be in charge forever. These kids are the next generation of Merchants. You need to learn how to network." At the untrusting look she leveled his way after that last bit, he just slumped his shoulders resignedly, sighing out, "You know what? Forget it. You can stay back while I make the trade. That way, you don't have to dirty your dainty little hands with Merchant trash."

Katniss sent him one last scathing sneer before he turned back to continue moving through the crowd. When he put it that way, she felt like a bigger bigot than any Merchant child she'd ever encountered.

* * *

As had become something of an unspoken tradition, they gathered in the town square a few yards in front of the bakery. It was usually a dozen or so of them, depending on who'd been grounded or who'd managed to get married off in the past twelve months or who was too ill to make it out that particular year.

Since it was the baker's eldest son who instituted this little viewing party for the Opening Ceremonies upon surviving his first Reaping at the age of twelve, the three Mellark teens were always staples at this gathering.

As this was compulsory viewing material in the districts, the boys figured they'd make the most of it and turn it into a mini social event with a handful of friends. It made it somewhat easier to stomach the reality that any one of them could be plucked away the upcoming year. At least, that's what each merchant child gathered in front of the bakery attempted to convince themselves of.

This year, by the time the baker's three sons had managed to finish their chores in the bakery and their father relieved Rye of his shift, seven other Merchant adolescents had already gathered at the usual spot. The show was roughly fifteen minutes from starting.

Greetings were exchanged with the usual fervor that came with the knowledge that no one from the Merchant class had been reaped this year. However, neither the enthusiasm nor the smile Flax wore this evening, managed to reach his eyes. Although, his younger brothers noticed and were concerned about the usually charismatic teenager's uncharacteristically solemn demeanor, they pretended not to- if only to help him save face in front of their friends.

Within a minute of their arrival, the last straggler of the group, the cobbler's youngest daughter, finally wove her way through the amassed crowd to join them. Her older sister accompanied her. They kept their arms interlocked as the younger girl greeted everyone and made sure all those gathered acknowledged and welcomed her beloved older sibling, who barely raised her eyes off the ground the entire time, avoiding everyone's gaze.

As soon as the greetings ended, the obviously uncomfortable young woman excused herself, disappearing into the crowd in the direction of her home with a kiss to the cheek of her younger sister.

Too astute and far too empathic not to voice his concern over his friend's sister, Peeta turned to the girl, keeping his tone congenially soft. "Solei, is it a good idea for her to be pregnant again so soon after…"

There was no need to finish the statement. The cobbler's oldest daughter had been married to the tailor's son for a little over a year. She'd gotten pregnant immediately after the toasting. She'd miscarried within two months. It had been terribly traumatic for the young woman. Therefore, when her younger sister had confessed the girl was pregnant again only a month later, the bile had risen to Peeta's throat.

What kind of man was the tailor's son to take a woman in such a weak emotional and physical state? Needless to say, when Solei delivered the news that her sister had lost the baby again a month later, he was not surprised in the slightest- indignant and disgusted at what the tailor's son was putting his own wife through, but not surprised.

Now, the girl (yes, a girl of only nineteen), sported a baby bump of at minimum five months. He wasn't a healer, but he'd noticed how pale and fragile that girl appeared. Three pregnancies- two that ended quite bloodily- in less than a year, could not be healthy for any woman.

Anger flashed violently in the eyes of the cobbler's youngest daughter as she retorted spitefully, "Well, she doesn't really get much of a choice in the matter, now does she, Peeta?" Unshed tears pooled in her pale blue eyes as they darted briefly toward Flax with what could only be described as longing, then back to lock with her friend's before she added in a defeated, hollow voice, "She should've waited the extra year. _You_ all know how a girl deserves to be treated. She wouldn't be suffering if she would've waited…"

Almost of their own accord, the youngest Mellark's arms found themselves encircling the now sobbing young girl's shoulders. He held her tight, allowing her to cry into his shoulder. Even if they'd mutually agreed to keep their relationship platonic months ago, she was still his friend and he would be remiss to deny this simple comfort to a friend.

His eyes locked briefly with those of his oldest brother, finding overwhelmingly sincere sympathy in those dark oceanic depths. Neither of them would ever have the heart to tell this girl Flax had no taste for Merchant girls. The charade allotted her a belief that things could have been better for her beloved older sister had circumstances been different. They couldn't take that from her.

"Hey Cheri, don't look now, but your Seam crush is heading this way."

Of course, once the metalworker's daughter directed the words ' _don't look now_ ' at the daughter of the sweets shop owner, curiosity was going to override the aforementioned's resolve not to look- not to mention, everyone else's.

Hence, the eyes of everyone in the small group of Merchant friends followed those of the conspiratorially smiling freckle-faced sixteen-year-old to land on Gale Hawthorne, who was cutting through the crowds on his way to them. He was still quite a ways away, but his height made him very simple to spot amidst the congregated masses.

"Oh, please Acier! Don't act like you wouldn't jump at the chance to lie at that man's feet if he'd afford you the time of day." Both girls began giggling at this.

"I doubt Dad would find that so amusing, Ace. You're above slumming it with Seam trash."

The three Mellark boys glared in open disapproval at the metalworker's seventeen-year-old son. This guy was your quintessential District Twelve snob. Thankfully, his sister was far more open-minded. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, leveling an icy sneer at the offensive boy. "Seam people are exactly the same as us, Joaillier! The simple happenstance that they were born into a different social and economic situation, doesn't make them trash!"

"Whatever!" The dirty blonde rounded back on his younger sister with the same irreverence as before. "Regardless how idealistic your views may be, the fact is all of us are above having to settle for anyone from the Seam."

At this point, Peeta was so fed up with the self-adulating nonsense spewing from the kid's mouth; he rolled his eyes so emphatically, they settled on a completely different spot amongst the crowd in front of them. That's when he noticed her.

He'd missed her before because almost everyone was a head taller than her, thus obscuring her almost entirely. However, as Gale made his way closer to their group, it became perceivable he was accompanied by his almost omnipresent hunting partner- Katniss.

Upon seeing her, he shifted the cobbler's daughter in his arms so that he wasn't so much embracing her as lightly reclining an arm over her shoulders, a much more brotherly-looking gesture than the previous embrace. The shift in body language had been entirely unpremeditated, without any conscious thought, as if it was reflex to make himself look available and interested whenever the little Seam girl came anywhere near. No one in their little group of friends had even noticed it.

Well, no one except Rye, that is.

The Mellark middle child started snickering at what he considered his baby brother's pathetically poor job of hiding how helplessly smitten he was with that Everdeen girl, (although, in reality, the boy did an exceedingly excellent job at hiding his feelings.) Well, that and he found it positively hilarious that suave, silver-tongued Peeta could actually be this awkward around anybody. Call him a sadist, (and jealous, if he were ever honest with himself) but it was fun watching his little brother squirm.

To his disappointment, he was robbed of a truly excellent opportunity to witness the boy shove a foot in his mouth when the little Seam brunette stayed about ten yards away from their group while Hawthorne made his way to him to deliver his special request from the Hob.

Oh well, life would provide another opportunity to embarrass Peeta. He was sure of it. "Hey, Gale" He greeted the hunter enthusiastically, dodging his older brother's untrusting, narrowed gaze, "Were you able to get it?"

In response, the tall, dark, seventeen-year-old, Seam boy brought his game bag from over his shoulder, dug inside and retrieved a bottle of Ripper's white liquor, quickly handing it over to the smiling Mellark middle child. "If your father catches you with that, you didn't get it from me, Rye. I don't need to loose customers over running an errand for you."

Realizing exactly what was transpiring, the eldest Mellark teen stepped forward, coming between Gale and his sibling. His eyes burned accusingly into the younger boy's as he gritted out dangerously, "What do you think you're doing, Rye? I'm the only person here who's old enough to drink and not even _you're_ stupid enough to think of doing something this idiotic out in the open where all the Peacekeepers can see you."

Caught like a deer in headlights by the intensity in his brother's stare, the sixteen-year-old blonde found himself unable to do more than swallow hard the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. Accordingly, he was eternally grateful to his baby brother for putting a hand on the older boy's shoulder, effectively diverting his attention away.

Peeta lifted the thermos they'd brought out with them, gesturing to it with his head as he almost whispered. "We brought a thermos of ginger tea to hide the liquor in, Flax. If any Peacekeepers pass by, it'll only look like we're all drinking tea. Split amongst all of us, it isn't enough to get anyone drunk. We just wanted to do something special this year to celebrate your being out of the Reapings for good."

Flax's eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as if he was having difficulty grasping the concept of what his youngest brother had just said. In the end, his shoulders slumped and he huffed out a resigned, "Fine, you better hope Dad doesn't find out you guys did this…" Then, he moved a step back, crossing his large arms over his chest, an impassive frown still twisting his normally august features.

Rye now stepped forward toward the Seam hunter, holding out the money for the bottle. Gale, however, kept his steel-colored eyes on the older Mellark. "Flax, I can still take it back if you have a problem with this. Like I said before, I'm not about to loose a customer over an errand."

Rye shot a brief look at his older brother, noting the haggard expression he wore before turning back to the hunter, finally handing over the money. "It's alright, Gale. It's just that this was supposed to be a surprise for him and it didn't turn out quite the way we hoped." He hesitated momentarily before adding with a pointed look at the taller boy, "He's been really down since Kalmia Rosen's name was called at the Reaping this year."

Confusion knitted the steel-eyed boy's brow briefly before comprehension dawned. His eyes darted toward the solemn oldest Mellark teen, softening at the now obvious loss he registered in the teen's oceanic eyes. He'd seen this in the eyes of many Seam residents over the past day. Kalmia was a vibrant girl. Many people knew and liked her. The last place he'd expect to see this was in the baker's eldest son's eyes, however. He had never expected this particular person to feel this way about Kalmia, a Seam girl. He wasn't particularly good with words, but he could at least attempt to comfort the distraught boy. "The Rosens are a hardy bunch, Flax. She has some fight in her."

There was an almost imperceptible upward twitch to the towhead's lips before the metalworker's son off to his side let out a sarcastic scoff. "Oh, yes. District Twelve is renowned for their excellent Tributes in the Games. See, this is the problem with our Flax's unfortunate taste for dark meat. You wouldn't have to see your girlfriends carted off to the Capitol year after year if you kept to your own class, my friend."

"Okay… Gale, I promised Prim I'd watch the Opening Ceremonies with her and I'd definitely rather be there than here." Katniss' enraged voice beat out everyone else's in the Merchant group. She had already turned to make her way back to the Seam when she added over her shoulder, "Remember we start our hunt tomorrow at dawn! Don't stay out here all night. You're a pitifully worthless shot when you're groggy!"

Peeta couldn't help the involuntary exhilarated shudder that shot through him at the intensity and heat in her voice. Wow, she was hot when she was this pissed!

Everyone was still watching the angry tiny Seam girl's retreating form when an impressed whistle brought their attention back to the infuriating metalworker's son. "How does all that attitude even fit into such a little body! I'm amazed you let her talk to you that way, Hawthorne. You don't seem like the type to allow your woman to lead you around."

Gale allowed an easy, self-assured smirk to split his features, turning back form watching Katniss walk away to lock steel eyes with the sky blues of this insufferable Merchant boy. He was too smart to allow himself to be baited by someone of such obviously inferior intelligence. He was the hunter, after all. This moron was prey. "I'm smart enough to know when I'm outgunned, Joaillier. No point fighting a battle you can't win." He now shifted his eyes to hold the gaze of the oldest Mellark teen. "Every once in a while, they do grow them especially tough in the Seam. Katniss is proof- all five feet of her. Seam girls can surprise." Then, he tossed his gamebag over his shoulder, turning in the direction of his home in the Seam.

He'd taken about two steps when the deep baritone cut through the air. "Gale, wait!"

The brunette turned to raise an inquisitive brow in the direction of the speaker.

"Kalmia… her little brother and her parents… If you could tell them to come by the bakery…" The baker's sons were rather notorious for their way with words but just the helpless plead in this boy's impossibly dark blue eyes, communicated more than words ever could.

Gale found it impossible to hold that gaze. He looked at the ground, his brows furrowing in a mix of anger, pride and empathy as he answered the older teen truthfully. "Seam doesn't accept charity, Flax. Her father's still strong enough to give the mines a few more years. Her brother's on tesserea for the lot of them. As long as they can scrounge up a living for themselves… Pride's all we have in the Seam. Any one of us would be hard-pressed to let that go."

He didn't have to look back to know the older boy's face had fallen in disappointment, he could hear it clearly in the solemn hitch to his voice. "I know. But, there's no harm in relaying the message for me, right? At least, to her baby brother?"

Steel now met the deepest ocean, softening at the unyielding hope found there. "Nope. Relaying a message never hurt anybody. I'll be sure the Rosens get yours." With those parting words, the hunter retreated into the crowds just as the seal of Panem lit the large screen at the center of the Town Square.

"Ooh! The show's about to begin, Everyone! Look how pretty they decorated the Capitol this year! Is it just me, or is Claudius putting on a little weight?" As it could always be depended upon to do so, Delly Cartwright's effervescent trill managed to cut through the previous tension like a knife through butter.

Peeta snickered, opening the thermos so that Rye could empty the bottle they'd purchased from the hunter into it. "Let's see what the freak showcase parade has in store for us this year. Did all you guys remember to bring mugs out here. There's no way I'm going back home to get anyone a glass."

Correspondingly, half a dozen mugs appeared before the two youngest Mellark boys, who went about distributing the drinks as quickly as they could so as not to miss the first chariot leave the gates.

"I can't believe you guys orchestrated this behind my back. I feel cheated." The oldest of the baker's sons let out a fake sniffle, then allowed the beginnings of the first real smile he'd worn in the last twenty-four hours to tug at the corners of his lips. "You boneheads did remember to bring a mug out here for me, right?"

Rye's eyebrows shot up on his forehead before shaking his head ruefully at his older brother. "Ouch! I knew we'd forgotten something! But, it doesn't matter, right? What, with you somewhat being in mourning and all, alcohol's probably the last thing you need right now." This garnered giggles from all the girls within their group.

Flax graced his little brother with an unimpressed, withering sneer. "See, this is why Peeta's my favorite." He held out a hand to accept the mug from his still-snickering baby brother. "All _you_ can ever be counted on for is sarcasm and the occasional bad joke. Here's a newsflash for you, Rye: You ain't funny!"

The textiles store-owner's fifteen-year-old daughter wrapped both arms around the Mellark middle child's waist, shooting his older brother a defiant pout. "I think Rye's funny! You're just jealous!"

For good measure, Rye hung an arm around the girl's shoulder, planting a kiss to her temple as she reddened at the gesture. He graced his brother with a superior grin. "I have my own fans, thank you. _You_ can quite honestly shove it if you don't like it."

Flax's eyes darkened to near black as he advanced on his younger brother. He was already raising his hands to the scruff of the boy's shirt when his baby brother's voice rang through. "All right! District One is officially naked! You'd think the wealthiest district could afford to dress its poor Tributes! Then again, considering the rack on that girl…"

Both older boys' blue eyes instantly traveled to the screen, where the camera seemed frozen on the bodies of the District One Tributes.

They weren't technically nude.

The over six-foot tall male Tribute wore an embarrassingly short jewel-studded sarong that emphasized the ridiculous amount of muscle on his thighs. The lack of any upper body wear excepting a thick gold chain was likely meant to showcase the muscle that covered every single other square inch of the boy's body. The girl wore a matching sarong to cover her bottom half, only hers was impossibly even smaller. Her 'top' appeared to be feathers and gemstones that had been strategically glued directly to her body. The design afforded her the modesty of not exposing her breasts entirely, but very little was left to the imagination.

"Anyone else here hoping it's really cold in the Capitol so one of those gems just darts off?" A chorus of 'here, here's' and laughter answered Peeta's query. He didn't stop laughing himself even after his older brother smacked him in the back of the head in mock disapproval of his crudeness.

"District Two can afford more fabric than that, too! You'd think these districts' chief export were escorts by what they've managed to put these kids in." Delly sounded sincerely outraged- quite a feat for someone so naturally perky.

Both Tributes from Two sported matching togas. They were just long enough to cover where their thighs met their torsos. The boy's wrap hung loosely over one shoulder, exposing all his muscular upper body. The girl's wrap hung over one shoulder as well, but it was fitted tightly to her contour and two lengths of golden rope ran underneath and above her breast to accentuate the area.

"Can anybody tell what District Three are supposed to be?" The metalworker's son's bored voice cut through the group. The screen was broadcasting a pair of Tributes in flowing, long silver robes and headpieces resembling circular television satellites.

"Something mechanical, most likely… I just can't get over… How old is that poor boy from Three? He looks eight!" Rye's face twisted in disgust as he stared at the child he'd inquired about. This was so wrong. Someone this small and frail didn't stand a chance in the Games.

The textiles store-owner's daughter, who'd decided she rather liked watching this wrapped up in the muscular boy's arms, inclined her head upwards slightly to gain his attention. "According to the Reapings, he's fourteen, Rye. He's just very small, I guess." Her words did little to assuage the discomfort of the blonde holding her. He settled for resting his chin on her shoulder.

"Pft! That's original! Four are a mermaid and a fisherman… an almost nude fisherman. If anyone actually went fishing in that, wouldn't a shark rip something off? It probably looks like seaweed to fish, right?"

"Ace! You are just wicked!" The sweetshop owner's daughter gasped out amidst bouts of unbridled laughter at the metalworker's daughter's poignant observation.

Both giggling girls turned questioning eyes towards the males in their group. Upon noting their horrified, pained expressions and the way they all seemed to be crossing their legs protectively (Joaillier was actually holding a hand over his groin), they, along with all the other girls in their group, exploded in fits of renewed laughter.

The screen panned to the District Five Tributes who were both dressed in white jumpsuits with silver hoops of various sizes dangling from their bodies.

"Oh, I get it! They're atoms! That's kinda creative, I guess…" Truth be told, these Tributes were so unremarkable, no one could even contribute anything to the original comment the cobbler's daughter made. Instead, the Mellarks took advantage of the airtime wasted on this district to freshen everyone's drinks.

Then, came the chariot from District Six. The only thing that really stood out about this one was the fact that the girl had an obviously maimed right hand and lower arm. Of course, the designers had tried to cover it up with the glove of a Capitol train attendant- both Tributes were costumed as train attendants. But, the way the arm curved at an irregular angle when supposedly straight and how much shorter it hung as opposed to the girl's left side, spoke volumes of a broken bone that had not been set into place before healing. This girl was useless on her right side.

"Even the Capitol must realize there's just no sport in throwing someone so mangled into the arena. That girl won't even last a day."

The sweets store-owner's daughter turned back towards the oldest member of their little group, fire blazing in here azure eyes. "There's no sport in any of this, Flax! This is all just sick! They're all sick for wanting to watch this crippled girl be slaughtered!" Her voice broke into sobbing at the end and she allowed herself to be comforted by the metalworker's children.

No one spoke as the District Seven chariot pulled out of the gates. Not that anyone had much to say about it. The Tributes were trees. They were always trees. The designer for Seven had given up on being promoted to a better district a decade ago.

A collective groan rung out from the group at the site of the District Eight chariot. This was often one of the least popular displays. Eight was that unfortunately perfect combination of low enough in the district totem pole to posses a plethora of half starved, wiry Tributes and holding the distinction of being the chief producer of textiles for Panem. This translated into a chariot carrying unhealthily thin, pale Tributes covered in so much stifling material; you could barely make out their eyes.

By the time the District Nine chariot pulled out, Peeta was reclining his head on his oldest brother's shoulder, feigning sleep. The older teen only shrugged him off with a chortle, pointing out that the Nine Tributes were decorated in every kind of bread imaginable. The fifteen-year-old just clucked his tongue, rubbing the weariness out of his eyes. "I just spent half the day making bread. At this rate, people composed of bread are likely to be what populates my nightmares tonight. I don't need to look at the physical manifestation of my nightmares, thank you." This drew a hardy chuckle out of everyone in the group.

The next chariot was decidedly more interesting then its last couple of predecessors. District Ten's designer had slightly stalkier (and older, at fifteen and seventeen, respectively) Tributes to work with this year. Thus, they were cows. They were the sorriest, skinniest excuses for cows ever- but they were definitely cows. Both children wore what appeared to be flesh-colored underwear to protect their modesty. The rest of their bodies was covered in paint, black and white spots for the girl and deep drown for the boy. Oh, and the boy got the added bonus of brandishing a pair of foot-long horns, which extended out from his forehead.

"Okay! I'm taking a poll!" The metalworker's son's almost caustically mocking voice, bolstered through the group. "What would you guys prefer to wear? The bull get-up from Ten or the fisherman fishnet thong from Three?"

"Well, we all know you'd choose the thong, Joe… anything to feel something up there, right?"

Blazing gray-blue eyes bore into the baby blues of the Mellark second-born. "Bite me, Rye!"

This only elicited a bemused scoff from the offender. "Well, you know I'm never one to let down a friend, but I'm going to have to decline on that invitation, buddy. You're not even my gender of choice and, unlike you, that's actually a deal-breaker for me." Just to add the perfect punctuation to the insult, the blonde blew a kiss and winked at the older boy.

"Oh, that's it, Mellark!" And the older boy lunged himself at the still-chuckling shorter teen.

Two feet from reaching each other, Acier managed to get in front of her brother, both hands pushing back on his shoulders while the textiles store-owner's seventeen-year-old son pinned his arms to his side. The kid was impossibly introverted, but he had a vice grip.

Opposite them, Peeta had managed to get his brother into a secure arm bar hold, which the older teen was pointedly attempting to maneuver out of. The only thing aiding the fifteen-year-old at this point was the fact that his older brother had partaken of the most alcohol so far tonight. If it weren't for the older teen's slowed reflexes, his baby brother didn't stand a chance.

He could almost find humor in that irony. He was pretty certain it was the alcohol that had caused what Rye had said to Joaillier to fly out of the boy's mouth in the first place. His older brother was insulting and sarcastic, but usually far more passive aggressive about it when sober.

Flax rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, stepping between the two boys. "You're all missing the District Eleven chariot…"

"Oh, who cares, Flax! They're fruit baskets! They're always fruit baskets! Peeta, I swear if you don't let go, I'm going to break something off!" The recipient of the threat kept his hold on the older boy's arms. However, he did roll his eyes to land pleadingly on his oldest brother.

The Mellark first born chose a different tactic to abate the terse situation. He changed the inflection of his voice to something he knew his brother would not ignore, stepping closer to the metalworker's son's face in order to voice his final arraignment.

The tenor that rang out over the struggling teenagers was far too cold, too authoritative, too aged to belong to an eighteen-year-old. "You'll both settle down right now or I'll find the way to settle you down." Upon hearing the otherworldly, enraged hitch in the young man's voice, both struggling teens ceased their movements to land questioning eyes upon him.

"You morons are half-drunk and will end up catching the Peacekeepers' attention if you don't stop this stupidity right now. What do you figure they'll do if they find you like _this_ and causing a public disturbance, huh?" He now turned to lock eyes with his younger brother. "At minimum, they'll tell Mom and Dad." One eyebrow shot up on the eldest Mellark's face upon noting the way his brother cringed at what he last said. "At maximum you'll be whipped for public drunkenness. Furthermore, if I miss Kalmia's chariot because of you idiots, there will definitely be dividends to pay!" He now looked between both younger boys, narrowing his eyes in challenge. "Who's in the mood to owe, guys?"

Both teens straightened, wordlessly turning toward the giant screen in the town square, both grudgingly folding their arms over their chest- neither stupid enough to challenge an enraged Flax Mellark.

The oldest teen kept his eyes on the screen as well, as he made his way to stand beside his youngest sibling. The boy used his hands to rub up his arms all the way to his shoulders, where he rotated both shoulder blades and cracked his neck.

"Are you all right, Peeta?"

A grin split the younger teen's features as he continued watching the screen. "Nothing like an impromptu wrestling match to wake you up! I think he actually tried to pull my arm out of its joint, though. I'm going to be feeling _that_ tomorrow! I'll be fine, Flax. I get hurt worse in practice… _he_ hurts me worse in practice."

"I could hurt him back for you… you know, just a little." The older teen couldn't help smiling at his baby brother's impossibly optimistic response.

"He's just venting his frustration." Peeta responded with an easy shrug that hurt a lot more than it should. "He'll apologize once he's sober. Then, he'll do it again when he gets angry and he'll apologize again when he calms down. One of us had to inherit it, right? At least, he realizes he does it. He apologizes. He cares."

Flax threw an arm over his baby brother's shoulders casually. " _You_ didn't get anything from _her_."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment? What both of you got from her makes you stronger, you know," Came the scoffed retort from the younger teen.

"What you _didn't_ get from her makes you stronger than both of us combined."

Peeta was left to puzzle out that last statement on his own when the screen finally panned to the District Twelve chariot and they saw her.

Kalmia Rosen was as deprived as any other resident of the Seam, but she was beneficiary of a trait most in her part of the district lacked- she was large-boned. This was probably what Hawthorne meant when he said the Rosens were a hardy bunch- they all had large frames.

Her designer had apparently made the decision that her deceptively healthier-looking, five-foot seven-inch physique, merited showcasing. Hence, she wore the same flesh-colored undergarments as the Tributes from Ten and beyond that, was covered entirely from head to toe in shimmering coal dust. This made the steel in her Seam eyes sparkle in stark contrast to the rest of her darkened features.

She looked beautiful.

So much so, that the cameras weren't even sparing more than a few seconds on her fifteen-year-old district partner, who was done up to look like a coal miner (big surprise). Even a fair amount of the Capitol crowd actually cheered their chariot as it progressed towards the City Circle. Maybe, she'd get help… maybe she'd get sponsors… maybe…

"She hasn't given up, Flax. Those aren't the eyes of someone who's given up. She's going to fight. She has a chance."

The oldest Mellark son tightened his arm around his baby brother's shoulders, bringing the younger boy into what was almost a sideways, one-armed embrace. As all the chariots aligned in perfect formation in the City Circle and the president commenced his speech, the boy let out his final shuddered reply on the subject.

"Maybe…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure there are things I'm not addressing here. Anything I leave out should be brought to my attention in the comments section.


	3. Fighter From Within and Without

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on Page 89 of The Hunger Games where Katniss tells Haymitch how Peeta can wrestle and he came in second in a school competition only losing to his brother. This took a lot of research into the sport of wrestling to write. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies in my depiction of this amazing sport. We can just chuck it up to things having changed a little in the future, okay? I have read quite a few Finnick fics that massacre Spanish and excuse it as a change in dialect over the course of time, so please grant me some leeway. XD
> 
> I considered splitting this into two installments when I'd reached 8000 words and was only 75% done, but decided to keep it together as one for continuity's sake. I apologize that it is so long.

He was staring at her again.

He loathed this uncontrollable _need_ to look at her, his weakness for visual conformation that she was alive and reasonably well… and not overall starving to death again.

He had a good idea why getting a glimpse of her everyday was so appeasing to the humane, empathetic part of his psyche. Four years ago, he'd witnessed her decaying to oblivion- so desperately alone in the freezing rain, fatherless, emaciated, hopeless.

In spite of what little he was able to do for her that day amidst fighting off his fears and the horrors residing within his own home, he'd found that the image of the girl he idealized as his perfect compliment dying a slow, agonizing death at his back door… that had the pesky tendency to linger in the mind of an eleven-year-old.

Then, there was the side to his psyche that branded him irrefutably male.

That part of him that wanted to glimpse _her_ , because she was beautiful in such a heart-achingly simple, effortless way. From the way she moved, the stealth and grace of a predator tracking prey, unpremeditatedly etching every gesture with calculation. To the way her face contorted delicately, brows knitting at times when a certain thought or emotion struck her, the steel in her eyes gleaming when she found something amusing- given the reality that she never smiled anymore- darkened and glinted when she was angry, or clouded over when she was upset.

She allowed every sentiment and emotion to color her expression with a reckless abandon and passion he both relished and coveted- the circumstances of his own upbringing having forced him to learn the insidious art of schooling his demeanor into a nearly omnipresent amicable façade. He inwardly mused she likely had the worst poker face ever. Then again, being from the Seam and considering the hardships of the past few years, he doubted she'd ever even learned of the card game, or any other sort of games recently, for that matter- excepting, of course, the one Games ever-presently shadowing ominously over all of them. Subsistence almost certainly took precedence over everything else for her at this point.

That same selfish, possessive part of him yearned to commit to what he'd realized since toddlerhood was nearly photographic memory every tangible part of her he hadn't lost the day of that despicable mine collapse four years ago- the day she'd lost her father… the day he'd lost her songs.

He didn't know how adolescence had transmogrified her singing voice whatsoever. His only recollections were of the lyrical, che'rubical sounds her throat emitted when she'd eagerly sung at assemblies prior to that lugubrious event. And although to present, he'd never found the wherewithal or courage to actually engage her in conversation- in spite of every fiber of his being fervently desiring to do so- he knew her voice had deepened since he'd last heard her sing.

His father, fully aware of his infatuation with her, always made sure to call him down whenever she came to their back door to trade. Even if he never answered the door, he made sure he was positioned close behind it, listening to her as she haggled with his father. Knowing how he'd so loved the sound of her voice since his youth, the elder blonde purposefully answered her monosyllabically or with simple head gestures and smiles, forcing the usually taciturn girl to carry the conversations squarely on her shoulders to seal the deals. His father would even often frown and pretend to be confounded by the simplest details of the negotiations so that she'd have to rehash things several times in that flustered, frustrated huff that the fifteen-year-old found positively endearing. When this occurred, he'd find himself holding a hand adamantly to his mouth to prevent the laughter from escaping inadvertently, thus exposing his eavesdropping position a few feet from the door.

He truly adored his father.

Though he had more than a sneaking suspicion that after all these years of subterfuge, _she_ believed the baker was partially mute and more than a little dim. Not that his father was the type of man who cared what anyone else thought of him and years of innerturmoil _had_ made him a man who simply didn't acknowledge value in words and thus, used them as sparingly as possible. Therefore, he certainly was not going to fault her for her misconceptions. They _were_ sort of messing with her, after all.

He continued appraising her as she waited by the edge of the playground where a group of younger Seam children immersed themselves in a game of tag. She wore practical, functional khaki pants and a short-sleeved, red-plaid, button-down shirt. It was the kind of thing he'd choose to wear himself any given day. He was aware she favored comfort over vanity and he was more than aware of her complete disregard for her femininity. He doubted she even realized how physically stunning she was. Most of the time, she didn't even seem to acknowledge her gender.

The only time he'd seen her in a dress or a skirt since her father passed away was on Reaping day, which- he was ashamed to admit- was ironically the only highlight that god-awful day ever brought with it.

Even that naïveté of her own sensuality added to her charm in his eyes.

He was aware what others spoke of her in school due to her propensity towards isolation. She barely spared any of the females in school a glance and on the few occasions he'd seen her manage even that, she'd frowned or rolled her eyes at whatever she saw or heard from them. She had much the same attitude towards almost every single boy in school, as well. That kind of open apathy toward what her peers considered important branded her a social pariah and she was perfectly happy to accept the role.

She was simply too distracted by responsibilities a normal fifteen-year-old girl shouldn't shoulder to demonstrate anything except affectable ambiguity and complete disinterest.

He loved and respected her all the more for it.

He knew she wasn't devoid of emotion or the ability to react with something other than antipathy towards others. She certainly didn't react that way to either him or Gale Hawthorne.

She'd been nearly inseparable from the hunter for the last three and a half years- since about six months after both their fathers shared the same fate in that mining accident. Gale was the only kid he ever saw her speaking to besides the mayor's daughter, who was the only girl she ever regarded without disdain and even sat with at lunchtime frequently.

Then, there was him. She'd very frequently caught him staring at her over the years. It was an inevitability really, with how often he found himself indulging in the act and how her very keen hunter senses were so attuned to that unique sensation of being watched.

Even now, as he stood by the elevated window of the boy's locker room gazing out at her, she'd glanced around impassively several times feeling his eyes on her.

Not that she could ever see him from her vantage point outside on the playground. The entire school was built on a higher elevation than most buildings in the district, requiring the climb of a half dozen steps to enter it- likely because it was one of the few structures in Twelve with a basement. Adding to that, the raised elevation of the window and the amount of light outside currently, seeing inside the building would be an impossibility unless she were to get a ladder, cupping her eyes to look inside that specific window.

Today not withstanding, however, she _had_ caught him staring before and she hadn't frowned disdainfully or rolled her eyes.

In his opinion, those reactions would've been preferable.

No. Whenever they unexpectedly locked eyes, hers would immediately cloud over with what he easily recognized as overwhelming guilt and unfathomable shame before her brows knitted together in confused agony and she'd have to wrench them away, as if attempting to pretend the moment never transpired.

Nevertheless, it _had_ happened. It happened a lot.

And ever since he'd worked up the nerve a couple of years prior to avoid flinching away from her gaze in mortification at being caught, he'd resolved to hold her gaze for as long as he could, hoping against hope he could communicate with his eyes what he couldn't with words.

It wasn't succeeding, however. Whatever she felt when they locked eyes was apparently too overwhelming for her to process anything beyond and every time she tore her eyes away from his with that bewildered, pained grimace, the tightness in his chest was literally excruciating.

Anyone would reason that cause enough for him to stop staring at her, yet here he was.

Apparently, he was a glutton for punishment.

"You're zoned out again. You planning on competing in _that_? Don't know how much traction you'll have on the mat with those shoes…"

He didn't bother changing his cross-armed, leaning posture to regard his older brother, responding with a lackadaisical shrug. "I'm not zoned out. Believe it or not, some of us are actually capable of holding more than one thought at a time and I still have more than enough time to get ready."

In the end, he wished he'd turned to face the older boy while replying. He certainly would've been better equipped to handle the sixteen-year-old suddenly appearing craning- likely on tiptoes, since although a year his senior, they were both the same height- to look over his shoulder, almost completely flush against his body with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

He wasn't modest but Rye's comfort with his body far surpassed his own and after years of wrestling, no one on the team had any notion whatsoever of personal space with regards to one another. None of this usually fazed him. However, when someone sneaked up on you like that, it was pretty much human nature to feel uncomfortable and he found himself seriously suppressing the urge to send an elbow to his brother's ribs to gain some breathing room.

"Oh, yeah, little brother. Like there's more than one thought going through your mind while staring at _her,_ " The older teen chortled, backing away from the window and raising a challenging blonde eyebrow.

Even through his gratitude for the space, the insinuating tone in his brother's voice made his stomach lurch. He found it impossible to keep the anger out of his voice even with the full knowledge that he'd risen to his brother's bait. "I don't think of her just that way, Rye. You're seriously warped!"

The older boy only crossed his muscled arms over his equally muscled bare chest, shrugging and smirking in a way that was supposed to resemble innocence, except he purposely twisted it just enough that it came off as depraved. "No, I'm normal. And the handful of girls you and I share in common that I dated after you, I know would certainly attest to your being normal, too. So, what about _her_ do you think about the other ninety-nine percent of the time you're checking her out?"

Peeta sneered in disgust. The thought of his ex-girlfriends and his older brother discussing anything about their previous relationships on their dates was ghastly enough to make him entirely disregard the jab about his wanting Katniss in an almost purely physical sense. Honestly, what was wrong with this kid? "Ugh! Why would you even talk about that with any of them? Are you sick in the head?"

The older blonde seemed to give the notion serious consideration for a second before responding with an ease that was just not appropriate to the topic in question. "Nah! At least, I don't think so anyway, not unless Mom got too many blows to the head in before I got tall enough for other areas to become easier targets." At this sudden, unpleasant turn to the conversation, both brothers instinctively shuddered uncomfortably.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Mellark! Put some clothes on! Why would you even shower before a competition? You'll just have to take another one after!" The scandalized shriek from the outraged metalwork's son broke into their conversation from across the locker room.

Without missing a beat, the sixteen-year-old turned in the direction of the older boy, a flirtatious smirk splitting his features as he vociferated his retort. "Just enjoy the view, Joe. I'm defending this year, remember? I fight the last of you losers standing and none of you poses enough of a challenge for me to actually break a sweat! Besides, I have the same thing as you do under this towel, just magnified by a factor of around a hundred!"

A chorus of unbridled laughter from the dozen or so other teens trickling into the locker room followed the statement. The boisterous sound doing a very nice job of drowning out whatever the older teen had replied, which both brothers were fairly certain contained some very colorful language.

Completely sanguine, as if the previous exchange had not even occurred, Rye turned back to his still-snickering baby brother. "Really it was more out of sheer curiosity and an overwhelming urge to outdo you in any way I can. It's bad enough it already looks like I'm going to be the shortest of us three. In a family of short men, that's kinda sad."

"Oh, yeah, Rye! That inferiority complex is really attractive! I'm sure it makes all the girls swoon!" Peeta scoffed mockingly, turning back to look out the window just in time to see Katniss' eyes light up in excitement as Gale arrived at her side by the playground. They were exchanging a few words, likely a greeting.

All the humor faded from his demeanor as the all-too-familiar jealousy surged up from somewhere in the pit of his stomach upon seeing Katniss with Gale. Not that he had any rightful claim to that jealousy- a fact he was painfully aware of. In order to have a claim to jealousy he'd first need a claim to her and he'd never had the gumption to so much as speak to her.

What he was currently experiencing was the ultimate reason to stop staring at this girl. Every time he stared for long enough, he was inevitably rewarded with one of these gut-wrenchingly painful scenes.

He'd asked his father a few years prior if he knew whether Katniss and Gale were related. They favored each other in features more than they favored most other Seam kids in school. Katniss even favored the hunter more than her own sister. He'd even asked his father whether they had the same father since the little girl was so obviously Merchant in appearance as well. His father had laughed at the ludicrousness of implying Katniss' mother would ever betray her father, explaining that her younger sister was the spitting image of their mother at that age. As for Katniss and Gale's relation, he'd sighed deeply, simply saying they were kindred and that's why they sought out each other's company.

Of course, that explanation had been woefully unsatisfying because he was well aware that kindred meant both related and similar. However, when he'd pried his father for clarification, the older man just released a tired breath and squeezed his shoulder noncommittally. What was he supposed to read into that? For the first time he could remember, he'd become enraged at his father for his inability or unwillingness to vocalize his thoughts. He'd stormed off and locked himself in his bedroom for the rest of the day.

So, now here he stood, boiling over with spite over what may or may not exist between the girl of his dreams and the boy of pretty much every other girl in this school's dreams.

This was decidedly torture.

Yet, here he stood staring at them.

He was definitely a masochist.

"Seriously, Rye! Get some clothes on or I'm telling the coach!" The metalworker's son's now-enraged baritone cut through his darkening thoughts and mood.

"Oh, I want a front row seat to that conversation, buddy! I'd pay to watch you sputter your way through explaining how the site of a partially naked team member makes you this uncomfortable, then wracking your feeble brain for the answer to Coach's obvious follow up question: Why don't you just look at something else?" The sixteen-year-old paused here to both allow the cacophony of laughter that had erupted in the locker room to die down sufficiently to continue and to level the most seductive look he could muster at the older teenager at the opposite end of the room. "Keep whining about it like a little girl and I'm loosing the towel!"

The blonde once again turned back to his baby brother without bothering to strain to hear the older boy's retort through the ensuing raucous laughter. He did lean closer to the younger boy so that his voice would carry clearly threw the noise, however. "Aren't you curious to know how we match up?"

At the sheer ridiculousness of that question, Peeta pried his eyes away from the scene outside where Madge Undersee had just ran up to Katniss and Gale as they were making their way apparently toward the meadow, likely on their way to hunt. With a resigned slump to his shoulders, he leveled a nonchalant look at his older sibling. "Considering how far I know I've gone with any of those girls, I'm willing to concede to your obvious superiority there, Rye."

The older teen actually had the gall to feign insult. "What makes you think I go any further than you with any of them? For all you know, I'm a perfect chaste gentleman!"

In spite of what he'd felt at what he'd been witnessing outside, the fifteen-year-old couldn't help the sincere laugh that bubbled out of him at hearing _that_ of all things come out of his older brother. "This coming from the guy standing in a room full of other guys in nothing but a towel for absolutely no good reason? You have no shame and no boundaries, man! I'm not passing judgment here! I'm stating facts! You're a freak, Rye!"

For a second time, a contemplative look came upon the older teen, causing a renewed bout of laughter form his younger brother, who once again turned his attention to looking outside. Rye lowered his voice so that only the two of them could hear what he said next. "Okay. Just to clear the air here, my status as a freak not withstanding, I have boundaries. I'm still in the reaping for two more years. These girls deserve better than that. They deserve someone who can actually marry them. I'm not about to offer more than I can deliver." When the younger boy acknowledged the statement with a surprised yet impressed quirk to his brow, he continued in his normal speaking volume, "Besides, there's really only one thing they seem to like that you do with your tongue when you kiss that I haven't even a clue as to what they're referring to…"

At this, a horrified gasp escaped the fifteen-year-old, mortified liquid blue eyes darting frantically to lock with his brother's. The pitch to his voice rising to a shriek. "You went into details about what I do? That's just sick, Rye! Seriously!"

The older blonde only raised an intrigued pale eyebrow, entirely unfazed by his brother's revulsion. " _I_ didn't ask for details. Girls like to talk… sometimes more than they should. This isn't news to either of us, Peeta. But, seriously though, what do you do with your tongue that's so fascinating to them?"

At the purely analytical way his brother was speaking about this, the younger teenager couldn't help but begin to regard the topic with the same odd detachment. "I honestly have no idea what they may be referring to. Maybe, I roll my tongue?" He proceeded to demonstrate the gesture as he continued to monitor the conversation between Katniss, Gale and Madge outside.

"Nah! I can do that." His older brother shook his head mimicking the gesture.

"Alright, can you do this?" The younger teen stuck out his tongue and looped it into a circle.

"Yup! That ain't it." Rye sighed dejectedly, then knitted his brows in concentration as a memory of what one girl said emerged. "One of them actually described it as feeling like a ripple, if that makes any kind of sense to you…"

A spark of recognition ignited the azure in the younger Mellark's eyes before he offered enthusiastically, "I think I know what it might be. Have you ever tried this?" Then, still pointedly staring out the window, he made his protruding tongue undulate; causing what looked like waves to course the entire length of it continuously.

The sixteen-year-old's blue eyes widened to the size of saucers as he openly gawked in amazed wonder at the younger boy's mouth. "How do you even do that?" He exhaled completely entranced and fascinated.

Peeta discontiued the gesture in order answer flippantly. "I've always been able to that- figured everyone else could too. Come to think of it, though, the fact that I've never felt anyone reciprocate that particular move, should likely have given me an idea of how rare it was. Then again, I'm not really thinking of much when I'm kissing, definitely not enough to analyze it."

"That is so hot, little brother! I just can't control the urge…" And before Peeta could even register the motion, his older brother had him pinned to the wall of the window he'd just been staring out of, locking his arms around his torso to link at his back. This effectively rendered the younger boy's already crossed arms completely incapable of finding purchase to break the hold as they were trapped between both boys' chests. To make matters worse, his older brother was making ridiculous exaggerated puckering gestures and leaning forward, aiming for his mouth.

Even through the shock, horror and mortification of having his older brother forcibly kiss him square on the lips at all, but much less in front of a locker room filled with most of their male friends, after half a decade of wrestling, Peeta realized he could wrench his leg between his brother's and trip him off. However, they were squarely between two rows of metal benches in the narrow space of the locker room. If he tripped up the older boy without the use of his arms to control or guide the fall, he could land head first against the edge of the benches or the bare concrete floor. Both would be serious if not deadly injuries.

In spite of the humiliation of his current predicament, the younger teen found that he curiously preferred the impending stigma of what his brother was trying to do to him to the idea of causing actual physical harm to the moron.

Of course, he also had the less lethal option of sending a knee to his unprotected groin, seeing as the idiot attacked him in nothing but a towel. But, once again, two many years of wrestling indoctrination had ingrained in him the simple moral conviction that one male _does not_ go for a hit to another male's genitals. Not to mention the fact that he'd received unintentional hits to that most sacred of areas in practice before and after retching from the pain, he'd inwardly sworn never to use that particular tactic unless his life depended on it.

Seeing as only his dignity and not his mortality were at stake at present, the younger blonde used the split second he had to react to leverage his legs against the wall, rolling both of them toward the lockers and ramming his brother's back into them. He'd hoped the surprise of the move coupled with the force of the blow would faze the older teen enough to loosen his hold so that he could free his arms and break away.

The bigger boy didn't budge, however. When it came to brute strength, Rye had the obvious advantage over his slighter-built baby bother and the only thing that would have surprised him was if the younger boy had actually broken with his nature and genuinely attempted to hurt him to get him off. His baby brother was just too nice to hurt anyone on purpose. He always had been. He coveted that about him. He hated how he always maintained just that small modicum of control that made him better than anyone else he'd ever known. Rye'd mindlessly hurt him many times when his temper flared out of control. Most of those times it wasn't even Peeta he was angry at. Usually they were both angry and frustrated at the same person. But his little brother never retaliated in a truly harmful way, never fought back to injure him, only to defend himself. He had a feeling that was the only reason he'd even gone into wrestling- to learn the most efficient way to defuse him without hurting him. After all, here he was, the most non-violent human being he knew, practicing a violent sport, completely out of his character.

He hated him for doing this because of him. He hated himself for having left him no other choice.

In the end, the thrashing boy came up the recipient of the sloppiest, wettest kiss on the cheek ever, which was just as disgusting as the more depraved kiss on the lips he was expecting in his mindset, but at least came with far less humiliation in the current setting.

His older brother chuckled, pulling away with an adoring smile and a pinch to his dry cheek. "You're just too irresistible, you know that?"

Peeta immediately used the newly found freedom of his arm to bat his brother's hand away from his face violently, bringing the opposite arm up to wipe the drool off his face with the sleeve of his shirt while sneering venomously at the older boy.

"Okay. If you're done attempting to rape your little brother, Rye. How's about you at least tighten that towel around your waist again. It didn't weather Peeta's struggle for his virtue particularly well."

The younger Mellark teen couldn't help laughing at that. He was pretty sure that was the first really funny thing the metalworker's son had ever said. He continued laughing as his brother excused himself with false etiquette and darted down the locker room toward the older teen. The last thing he caught out of the corner of his eye as he turned back to look out the window was a flash of Rye, bare as the day he was born, rolling the towel he previously wore to use as a whip against a horrified Joaillier. The older boy scrambled through the other hysterically laughing wrestlers to the adjacent row of lockers in an effort to escape.

Peeta noticed Gale walked away from the girls alone in the direction of the meadow as they made their way together speaking amicably in the direction of either town or back into the school. He had no idea as to their destination, not having been privy to the conversation. He just continued to follow them with his eyes until they were out of his field of vision from the window.

"You checking out my girl, Mellark?" And once more, here was the machinist's middle child, standing almost directly behind and slightly to the right of him. See, this is what he meant about no one on the team having any regard for another teammate's personal space. He didn't get this. When they weren't practicing, _he_ didn't sidle up and smother any of the other guys here. Why did everyone else see nothing wrong with this custom?

He pretended the closeness didn't faze him- at least this one was wearing the wrestling leotard they all wore- and craned his neck quite a bit to raise a questioning brow at him. The fifteen-year-old was over six feet tall and so lanky; they were both in the same weight class as fighters.

Gathering from the shorter boy's expression that he didn't know to whom he referred, the taller blonde elaborated, "Madge Undersee… I saw you looking at her just now, man."

To his credit, Peeta was able to choke down the immediate response of mocking laughter, managing to keep the humor he found in that ridiculous remark restricted exclusively to his gleaming blue eyes.

This boy looked like a bird, a very long bucktoothed bird. All the machinist's children looked like birds- thanks to their father- with long angular features and long hooked noses that curiously ended in something resembling an arrow. In fact, this boy's older sister had the unique distinction of being considered the ugliest woman in the district. At age twenty-three and not having received a single marriage offer, she was likely to remain a spinster for the rest of her life. The crueler, more heartless gossips in the district would whisper that she'd have been better off being reaped, as if being dead were better than being unattractive.

Some people were despicable.

His lack of physical attractiveness not withstanding- after all, no one could ever be the judge of what another found physically appealing- Peeta'd seen enough of Madge Undersee to realize she was not like most Merchant girls. She wasn't vain about her looks, though he'd be lying through his teeth if he said she wasn't beautiful. She never spoke of her family's elevated status in the district. In fact, the only person he'd ever seen her speak at length with at all was Katniss at lunch and sometimes afterschool. Like both him and his eldest brother, she seemed to favor Seam looks over Merchant and judging from the way her eyes kept roaming towards the hunter while she and Katniss had been speaking to him outside, he was pretty sure whose Seam looks the mayor's daughter favored overall.

Though he wasn't about to let this boy think he was intimidated by his ridiculous posturing, the fifteen-year-old still felt somewhat bad for the impossible odds he was up against there. Still, he couldn't keep the humor out of his voice as he looked him straight in the eyes, answering honestly. "First of all, I wasn't checking out Madge. I just happened to be looking in her direction when you walked up."

At the skeptical look the taller boy sent him, the humor fell from his demeanor, eyes narrowing into an icy sneer as he snorted coldly, "I have absolutely no reason to lie to you about Madge. If I were interested in the mayor's daughter, I would have approached her already and the news would've spread through this locker room like a wildfire. We all know who goes out with whom in here."

This was all entirely true, of course. He'd never experienced any trouble pursuing Merchant girls. He'd done it many times out of boredom, curiosity or sheer teenage hormonal drive. Mostly he did it because they were within easy reach, wouldn't result in a beating from his mother and the only girl he'd ever truly desired was, to date, completely unattainable.

Once the hostility and distrust morphed into hesitant attrition on the odd-looking boy's face, the shorter blonde regarded the machinist's son again, this time doing a much poorer job of masking his humor at the inanity of his prior statement, "Besides, Mani, in what dark region of your imagination did you conjure up the idea that Madge was _your girl_?"

The taller boy took instant umbrage to that, rounding heatedly, "It's not in my imagination, Mellark! We may have yet to formalize anything, but I asked her to come tonight to watch me fight and she agreed- so there!" With that, the boy turned up his ridiculously long nose and marched of in a tiff.

Peeta was left pondering that as he opened his locker- conveniently right beside the window- retrieved his wrestling uniform and sat on the bench untying his shoes. Katniss and Madge were plausibly heading back toward the school. If Madge had somehow been wrangled into having to see the freak fight, she'd certainly have wanted a friend there for moral support. Having never spoken to Katniss, he had no idea the kind of friend she'd be. Truth be told, he knew next to nothing about her personality except that she tended to get frustrated rather quickly when someone didn't understand her and that she was fiercely loyal to her sister. However, the Katniss he imagined in his mind would definitely be there for a friend who needed her. He found himself nearly giddy with excitement at the notion of having her there.

So lost in his own thoughts was he as he swiftly unbuttoned and shrugged off his shirt, pulling his undershirt over his head just as quickly that he never noticed his brother changing beside him until the shocked gasp escaped the older boy.

"That's new. When did Mom bestow that little piece of body art upon you, little brother?"

Peeta realized his brother had moved to stand behind him and was lightly tracing a spot on his upper left back, a few inches below his shoulder blade. He pretended the touch didn't hurt and swallowed tightly before responding. "I talked back to her yesterday."

The older boy released a slow whistle, laying a commiserative hand on the younger boy's shoulder. "Yup! That'll do it. Let me guess. Judging by the size and shape I'd say she jabbed you pretty good with the rolling pin. She could've bruised a rib. That's a pretty nasty bruise."

The younger blonde shook his head, standing so he could pull the leotard up his thighs. "I doubt she bruised anything, she only bruises ribs when she gets the hits in to the sides or the front and it always hurts to breath for a few days when she does. We all have too much muscle on our backs for her to do that much damage there… still hurts when someone touches it, though." He punctuated with a pointed look. His brother immediately removed his hands from his back with an apologetic grin.

"So, I heard from Birdface that Madge will be attending tonight. He's all a twitter about it."

Peeta laughed at the all-too-apropos nickname and pun, turning to his brother, liquid blue eyes twinkling with renewed excitement. "I think she's bringing Katniss with her! I saw them walking towards the school."

The older teen scrutinized him momentarily, calculating his words. "That's the first incentive you've ever had to try in one of these. Is my little brother actually going to enter a wrestling tournament and _wrestle_?"

The fifteen-year-old spared him an unappreciative, withering glare at his patronizing tone, making his way toward the exit. He paused just long enough to retort over his shoulder before stepping out, "I can pin everyone on this team if I want to, Rye. After five years of watching all of you try to rip each other apart, I know all your weaknesses." He paused here to shoot his brother a pointed look, "Especially yours, big brother."

* * *

She hated feeling like she was being watched.

It made her feel paranoid or mentally unstable to be constantly glancing over her shoulder. However, for the life of her, she couldn't shake that feeling of having eyes on her!

This was all Gale's fault.

She hated meeting him anywhere but their spot in the woods just because of this kind of thing. She always felt awkward and vulnerable out in the open like this.

But, no. He had to go and say something stupid, which she was quite certain had been completely inappropriate for a school setting, right in the middle of one of his classes, so that he'd get held back after class.

She had half a mind to leave his dumb butt behind and check the snare lines herself. She was faster anyway. She could probably do it and be back a good hour before the sun set… probably have time to finish her homework before supper.

If only she could get over this overwhelming feeling of being watched!

She ventured one more look behind her towards the playground. A group of elementary year students was playing a game of tag, but none of them was looking her way. In fact, they all seemed pretty preoccupied in their undertaking.

She let out an exasperated breath and turned back toward the exit of the school. She closed her eyes momentarily, imagining tying her best friend to a tree while using random spots on the trunk for target practice- spots really close to his limbs. She found this train of thought very cathartic. So much so that the deep tenor of the seventeen-year-old she'd been waiting for actually made her jump when he spoke right next to her ear. She never could hear the towering lug approaching.

"Hey, Catnip! Did you wait so long you fell asleep on your feet?"

In spite of how peeved she was at him for leaving her waiting out there so long, her elation at his finally arriving so they could get going still managed to alight her countenance. She couldn't help the mirth that tinged her words as she replied. "Actually, I was visualizing your untimely death by arrow tied to a tree for leaving me out here. I assure you, it was quite agonizing."

He started snickering at this, as they started moving away towards the meadow.

Suddenly, they found their trek halted by a very flustered, panting Madge Undersee. Upon reaching them, the girl took a few calming breaths before directing her inquiry at Katniss, blue eyes wide with plead. "I really need a favor from you! Mani Niemen asked me to go see his wrestling tournament today and I said yes. I really need you to go with me so I don't die of boredom! I'll owe you so much if you do this, Katniss! I'll even pay double for the next batch of strawberries you bring us. Just, please don't make me go alone!"

A humorous scoff brought the flaxen-haired girl's eyes up to meet those of the Seam hunter. "So, you got asked out by Birdface? Careful he doesn't scoop you up and fly off with you!"

The blue-eyed girl knitted her light eyebrows into a disapproving frown. "That's really mean, Gale! He can't help what he looks like!"

The steel-eyed teen shrugged callously. " _I_ can't help thinking he looks like something that should be squawking instead of talking."

The blonde looked on horrified as Katniss suppressed a chuckle. She cleared her throat, regaining the girl's attention. "If you don't want to go, Madge, then just don't go. You don't need me for that."

The mayor's daughter let out a sigh, running a frustrated hand though the loose strands of her half tied-up hair. Her eyes shot up briefly to the still-smirking older boy before locking again on her friend's. "It's not that simple, Katniss. My father has been telling me about how poorly it reflects on him politically that my mother almost never makes any public appearances and I never socialize with anyone in town. I agreed to do this so that word gets around that I'm not some anti-social outcast, which is what a lot of townspeople are saying about me and my mom."

Okay. This definitely rubbed Katniss the wrong way. She already had a poor opinion of the townspeople, but shunning the mayor's family because they had the discerning taste to keep away from their vain, arrogant, gossiping little cliques was pushing it too far. Now, this poor girl was being forced into socializing with them to secure her father's job? That was just wrong! Not surprising- but decidedly wrong! "I'll go with you, Madge," she stated with unquestionable finality.

Then looking up at her best friend, she added, "You wanna join, Gale? It'll be boring, but I'm sure there will be lots of kids there you can make fun of…"

The Seam hunter looked from one pair of expectant blue eyes to the other silver pair, bringing up a hand to run through his hair before responding honestly. "It's not just that I really don't want to go, girls. Though I really don't want to go, mind you. But, if you're staying Katniss, someone's gotta check the snares. It's unseasonably hot for this late in autumn and nothing is going to keep for more than a day in those traps. We can't afford for at least one of us not to go."

The steel-eyed girl nodded in agreement at this. "Okay, Gale. You go check the snares and I'll go with Madge. We can meet up tomorrow at our spot and see if we can shoot something down, okay? Just don't get yourself in trouble again or the tree thing is happening!"

Gale chuckled and saluted a goodbye before turning in the direction of the meadow.

"Goodbye, Gale!"

The steel-eyed teen turned to send the blonde a quick wave.

Katniss turned back to Madge, analyzing her shortly as if trying to decide if she should ask or not. Finally she inquired confidentially, "Do you feel like we're being watched?"

The blonde narrowed her eyes at her friend questioningly, a bit timidly. "What?"

The ebony just shrugged and murmured an unsure "Never mind", moving away toward the entrance to their school. The blonde shooting her worried glances every now and then as they went.

* * *

"I can't believe the runt beat me! Honestly, Madge you caught me on an off day."

The flaxen-haired beauty regarded with a degree of unabridged disappointment the downed wrestler, who'd decided he'd take in the rest of the tournament as a spectator from a row below hers on the bleachers after being defeated, from what she could tell, rather handily by the comparitively shorter teenager. "I don't think it's very nice of you to make fun of someone's physical appearance, Mani. You wouldn't like it if someone did it to you…"

The raven-haired girl beside her turned away from them to muffle a laugh into her hand upon hearing this. She knew her friend well enough to know this was her diplomatic way of saying, ' _You look like something my friend here would shoot down in the woods before it could take flight. You're really not one to talk!_ '

The lanky blonde looked positively taken aback by the reprimand. "Oh, what? You mean calling the Mellarks _runts_?" He shrugged innocently. "Everyone on the team does it! Heck, we do it to their faces most of the time. It's more a term of respect than of endearment in their case, though. You see?" He now pointed to where the Mellark middle child stood off to the side of the mats chatting with other teammates that had already lost their matches while two other matches went on simultaneously on separate ringed mats on the floor of the gym. One of which, his younger brother was currently competing in.

"Everyone in the highest weight class is at least six feet. That's why we're all a good head taller than Rye and Peeta. It's kinda hard to be heavy enough to weigh in if you're shorter. Shorter guys tend to be in the next couple weight classes down. Not the Mellarks, though. Something about those bastards makes them heavy as boulders! Once they get you down, it's darn near impossible to get the suckers off! And they've got a grip like the cold hands of death itself. Coach says it's something about their anatomy, the way their upper bodies and arms are so broad like that? Then, since none of them is very tall, they have a very low center of gravity so they're more agile than us taller guys in the higher weight class. That just ain't natural. Normal folk ain't built like that! Then, there's the anger issues. People say the only reason the brothers wrestle is to vent frustration. They say they're so vicious because they visualize doing what they do out there to us competitors to their own momma 'cause you know, she wails on 'em and all."

This gave Katniss pause. She'd seen herself a few years back how malicious the baker's wife could be when she'd yelled and threatened her for really doing nothing wrong at all. She'd also witnessed her beat Peeta for burning the loaves of bread that had saved her and her family from starvation. That inevitable twitch of guilt and shame made itself known within the pit of her stomach at that resurging memory. She really needed to thank this boy and find a way to repay him before she became ill from this.

However, she'd never really considered that these beatings were so commonplace in the baker's home that _all_ three boys routinely suffered them- at least not so routinely that their friends talked about it this casually. She could only imagine what a nightmare it must be to live knowing someone who's supposed to take care of you could physically hurt you at any moment.

She was broken out her brief reverie by the odd-looking boy's unusually shrill voice as he continued his explanation. "They go at you like they want to rip you apart! I'm just glad I wasn't heavy enough to compete against the oldest! Flax Mellark broke the clavicle of three different opponents the last two years he competed. Wasn't using any fancy moves neither, just used a cradle hold with too much force and snapped the bone. It's a legal move. It's bad enough for me having to deal with Rye's rage. He's dislocated the shoulder of nearly everyone on the team, yours truly included, at one point or another since he's been wrestling. Once that runt gets you in an Arm Bar or a Half Nelson you're hoping for a tap out just for the mercy of ending the pain."

Both girls exchanged a wince. The machinist's son certainly had a colorful way of painting his own painful experiences in wrestling. "Is that why he's not wrestling today? They don't want anyone to get hurt?" The blue-eyed girl ventured tentatively.

"Actually, this is the last tournament this school year and he's won 'em all to this point, so the coach only makes him fight the last kid standing to defend his title if he wants to at the end. If he doesn't, the title just passes to whoever won the most matches in this tournament."

"Looks like that's going to be Peeta. He doesn't seem to fight like you described his brothers fighting, though. He just keeps tripping the other boys down over and over again until the coach blows the whistle. He doesn't even seem to care whether they stay down on the mat or not." Madge supplied, nodding in the direction of the youngest Mellark, who, having won his last match, awaited the winner of the adjacent match to be declared in order to start the last match of the tournament before he'd have to face his own sibling.

The long blonde stretched out, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before responding. "Yeah, that was what made wrestling him just so plain annoying! At least, with his brothers, you knew what to expect. They were likely going to trip you off balance to get you off your feet as soon as they could and then they were going to use their freakishly massive bulks to pin your butt down as soon as your back touched the mat."

Madge giggled at that and Katniss hid a grin behind her hand. Then, a visible shudder went through the boy below them before he continued. "If they were in an especially bad mood, they'd do this really messed up move to get you on the mat that only _they_ can really do well legally 'cuase their legs are thick as my head and you need a lot of control to pull it off without seriously injuring your opponent."

Katniss took this opportunity to look at both the Mellark boys' lower bodies. She'd never realized before- well really, she'd never had reason to look- but both teens _did_ have very defined calves and thighs. She ventured this was from lifting the sacks of supplies from the train she'd sometimes seen them lugging into the bakery. This was likely the reason they were _all_ so broad-shouldered and muscular.

She phased back in to the conversation as the blonde boy was describing some fresh form of punishment he'd endured at the hands of the baker's sons. "They'd grab one of your arms with one of their hands and thrust the other hand between your legs, then throw your butt over their shoulder to land back-down on the mat like you were merely a sack of flour at their pa's bakery. I'll tell you something, It may not have caused any serious injury, but when you landed on that mat, the air was sucked so well out of your lungs and your back was on such fire, you weren't about to fight your way out of whatever sadistic pin they'd devised for you afterward."

His blonde brows knitted together in honest confusion as his deep blue eyes now shifted to the youngest of the baker's sons, who was in the midst of his final match of the day. "With Peeta, though… I honestly don't get _him_. I don't think I've ever seen him win a match before today in any of these tournaments. I mean, he's been coming to almost all the practices since he was ten, only missing when his pa needs him at the shop for something. He knows how to demonstrate every move and hold as well as anyone else on the team. I've seen him do the flips and throws his brothers can do, but he only ever practices those with Rye and I've never seen him use anything in a competition before today. He usually just let's whoever's fighting him pin him as quickly as possible."

He let out an exasperated sigh, lifting both hands toward the wrestling boy in frustration. "There's just no satisfaction in winning a match against someone who doesn't try like that, you know? Then, there's what he's doing today. That knocking a guy down then all but giving him a hand to pick him back up? Trust me when I tell you _that_ feels like a kick to the gut!"

Both girls were once again suppressing humor behind masks of commiseration.

Of course, the oblivious blonde never noticed. "Every time one of us hits the mat, he scores two points to the one point we score for getting back up. So, by the time the time clock expires on the match, he's won by default! It's like he's not fighting for the joy of the sport whatsoever! He's just found the most technical, efficient way to win every match without getting his hands dirty! And there! You see that!" He frantically pointed at the fifteen-year-old, who'd just won his last match and was shaking his opponent's hand soberly. "Every time he wins he's got this look of utter misery! It's like he feels so bad for the person he just bested with superior skill that he can't take any joy in his own victory! A person like this should not be wrestling, ladies! He sucks the fun right out of it! It aint right!"

The girls just exchanged quiet, bemused looks at the expense of the strange, excitable, defeated boy as the coach announced the final match and Rye stepped up to face his baby brother in the ring.

* * *

"You look tired, little brother."

Peeta sent a genuinely amused smile at his approaching sibling as he continued to stretch out his arms in preparation for what he was sure would be an excruciating match. He needed to take advantage of the short respite offered to prepare. "Yeah, I am", he responded earnestly, "How do you do this over and over every tournament?"

The older teen shrugged with an easy grin. "Me? I just run on rage… Flax did too, when he competed. It's a heck of a rush! And let's be entirely honest, the three of us certainly have a pretty deep, boundless well of hostility to draw from, don't we?"

A troubled expression flitted across the younger teen's features before he quickly schooled it back to an unreadable mask. He forced the resentment and bitterness out of his voice as best he could before responding. "Far be it from me to judge. To each his own, right? But, just for the record, there _is_ better motivation. It's sitting on the twelfth row on the far right."

Not bothering to turn toward where the younger boy had indicated, Rye bestowed a radiantly warm, knowing smile upon his baby brother. "Oh, I'm well aware of your 'inspiration' for this honestly impressive little exhibition tonight. She's been staring at you nonstop, by the way. I don't think she realizes she's doing it. Don't think that girl has an ounce of social guile in her entire body... completely oblivious…" He shook his head as if trying to get back on topic, dismissing the importance of his previous statement. "Alas, we don't all have your passion and restraint Peeta. Venting pent up frustration works better for Flax and me than showing off to some random pretty face in the crowds ever could."

The fifteen-year-old scoffed, regarding him disdainfully for his obviously intentional jab downgrading Katniss to 'some random pretty face in the crowds' when the older boy was fully aware she was so much more to him than that. However, recognizing the taunt as the obvious attempt to unhinge him it was, he didn't allow his older sibling the satisfaction of letting it vex him. Instead, he twitched up one corner of his mouth into a devious smirk, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to forget about the title and concede without us having to do this, huh?"

Rye's expression took on that contemplative quality that always made the younger boy want to laugh before he stated in a gravely serious tone, "Nah. That's not going to happen, little brother. Inferiority complex, remember?"

Peeta suppressed a snicker at the older boy's mockery of an attempt at sounding upset over being a selfish jerk. Correspondingly, he was sure to lace ever word he spoke next with as much sarcasm as possible. "Oh, that's right… the overwhelming compulsion to assert your dominance over me in every way. My mistake. Can you at least refrain from breaking anything? I'd really appreciate that..."

"So, how long have you known you could take me down, Peeta?"

This wasn't spoken with humor or mockery and his brother was looking straight into his eyes, searching, scrutinizing.

Caught unawares by the sudden intensity in the older boy's gaze, the fifteen-year-old just shrugged, shaking his head with a laugh he hoped didn't sound as forced as it really was. "I really don't think I could actually-"

"Flax and I can tell when you're lying, Peeta! Heck, you learned most of the skill from _us_! You can fool everyone else! You can even fool Dad but at least have the decency to be honest with _me_!" The older boy hissed and Peeta could see the unspoken plea beneath what he was actually asking.

"A few years… but I honestly can't guarantee I could when you're really out of control. You just become too… unpredictable."

"Unpredictable." The older boy repeated as if tasting the word out on his tongue. Then he gave a mirthless snort. "I guess that's better than _psychotic_ , right?"

An adamant rebuttal was on the tip of Peeta's tongue when the coach walked up advising them the respite time had ended and they were ready to start the match. He added that, seeing as they were siblings, he was willing to forego the coin toss to determine position and allow them to choose top or bottom for the title match.

Of course, Rye took the opportunity to make a rather loud, off-color comment about how the metalworker's son had a particular predilection for being at the bottom, which garnished him guffaws from all his teammates within earshot and a stern reprisal from the coach.

Still, as the older boy chose the more favorable bottom position with his hands and knees on the mat, he couldn't help get that last jab in at his already fuming friend on the sidelines about how he should attempt to curtail his jealousy at his little brother.

Peeta was still laughing when he got into a kneeling position behind the older boy. However, seeing as the affinity for messing with people's heads was a trait shared by all the Mellarks, he quickly bent forward near his brother's ear and whispered, "How would _you_ know what Joe likes, Rye?"

Barely registering his older brother's corresponding indignant gasp as the whistle blew, within a split second, the older boy had a grip on the hand Peeta held on his stomach by the wrist. He rotated it as he started to get his foot out to stand, clearly intending to flip the the smaller boy unto the mat. Before Rye could complete the motion, however, Peeta quickly reached out with his left hand and grabbed the back of the older boy's right ankle, which he was using as leverage. Lifting it to his waist, he sent Rye sprawling to the mat on his back.

Deciding to end this as quickly –and hopefully painlessly- as possible, the fifteen-year-old went for a pin.

The instant his brother's back hit the mat, the younger blonde's entire upper body pressed down on the boy's left shoulder, his left arm trapped uselessly between their bodies. He wrapped both legs around the older boy's left thigh so that he couldn't find enough purchase to use both powerful legs to propel him off. Both his arms he used to try to bring the struggling, stronger sixteen-year-old's right shoulder down to complete the pin. He managed to get his left elbow under Rye's armpit in order to use the mat as leverage to push down that shoulder while using his right arm to keep his balance against his brother's thick neck.

Panicked realization dawned on the Mellark middle child that his younger brother literally had the upper hand on him. He didn't have the purchase to roll out of the pin and he was tiring from struggling. Is this what his brother meant when he said he knew his weakness? Was he so entirely dependent on the adrenaline and resulting power surge the unadulterated indignation that filtered through his system when he banished all rational thought in a fight endowed him? The notion was sobering and terrifying. Then, there was the unshakable discomfiture that accompanied the certainty that he could not simply will himself to feel that level of animosity randomly and without provocation towards his baby brother.

He couldn't believe he'd let this happen, hadn't seen through the younger boy's manipulation. He'd made a mistake in underestimating him, or maybe he just overestimated his own ability to stay one step ahead. He'd always tried harder at everything because his baby brother seemed not to need to try at all. He was _not_ going to lose this match to Peeta! He just needed to figure out a way to make himself angry. That or…

The instant the idea struck, he felt ill about even considering it, but he was desperate. He wouldn't lose this match! He couldn't! Peeta would understand. His baby brother was the most understanding person alive. None of those rationalizations made him feel any better about it, however.

He was scum.

Letting out a huff that sounded somewhat like a mumbled "So sorry", the older teen used what strength he had left in his right arm- which was still considerable even in his compromised position- bringing his elbow down on his baby brother's upper left back, just under his shoulder blade… right on the bruise their mother had given him the day prior.

A choked groan escaped Peeta's lips at the scorching agony blazing down the entire left side of his body from the place his brother jabbed. The throbbing pain so distracting, he was barely aware of his brother reversing their positions or the coach's whistle indicating the end of the match. Even a few moments after, he laid prone on his back, index finger and thumb of one hand pressed firmly to his eyes to prevent the moisture threatening behind his eyelids at the overwhelming sensation.

Rye stood less than three feet off to the right of his younger sibling, not hearing when the coach declared him the still-reigning champion for another year. He wordlessly looked on, carefully keeping his face unreadable as the coach bent over Peeta with a worried expression, noting when the fifteen-year-old waved the middle-aged man off without uncovering his eyes but offering a weak, forced smile and a pained, "I'll be fine Coach. Just got the wind knocked out of me. You can go."

The sixteen-year-old forced himself to meet the older man's eyes with an air of aloofness when he nodded briefly in his direction before standing to dismiss the rest of the team and spectators. Although he was screaming in his mind for everyone to get lost so that he could wrap his brother in his arms and beg for the absolution he knew he didn't deserve. He managed monosyllabic responses to the platitudes of encomium and accolade his teammates brandished upon him while trying desperately to keep the growing chasm of abasement within concealed, as those same teammates moved on to voice their condolences toward his slowly sitting up baby brother when they passed him on their way out.

Once the last person stepped out of the gym, leaving the two baker's sons the only occupants, the eldest quickly shortened the distance to the youngest, effortlessly pulling him up wrapped in his strong arms. It wasn't lost on the fifteen-year-old that his brother had held on well after he was on his feet, either. Though the older teen didn't speak a word or meet his eyes as they slowly- for the younger's benefit- walked back to the locker room together.

In fact, neither of them spoke a word until they were home and Peeta laid shirtless in bed on his stomach as his older brother held a hot compress over the bruise on his back, which now comprised most of the left side of his rear torso. Even then, it wasn't Rye who spoke first.

"You know, if I'd known you wanted to keep your title this bad, I would've just taken a dive." The younger blonde attempted to cut through the tension with acerbic humor, knowing his brother probably felt bad enough about this. "There's no shame in losing to the best, after all."

His little brother's blatant attempt at empathy felt like having salt rubbed into a bleeding wound. How could this kid be this _good_? "You didn't lose to me, Peeta! And we both know it!" He couldn't help the way his voice or temper had risen. He didn't want to yell at him after what he'd done and he definitely didn't deserve his anger.

The younger blonde brushed it off with a shrug of his right shoulder since doing anything with his left side was torture, inclining his head up as far as he could to grace his brother with a conspiratorial grin. "That's not what the rest of the team's ever going to hear, though."

A look of anguished despair flitted across the sky blue in the older boy's eyes before his brows knit together in frustrated anger and both hands yanked briskly away from his brother's back coiling into tight fists. "Don't, Peeta!"

He wrenched his eyes away from his baby brother's and down toward his hands, opening and closing them, wading threw his shame and indignant vicissitude to find what he wanted to say. Finally giving up when the words wouldn't materialize, he huffed dejectedly. "Just don't."

Then, there was silence laced with the labored breathing of the sixteen-year-old as he struggled to control his emotional turmoil, his younger brother's saddened eyes never leaving his face.

Once his breathing leveled out, Rye's gaze locked with that of his little brother in determination, a hard edge of conviction to his tenor as he spoke quietly, with decided finality. "I'm volunteering for you if you're ever drawn, Peeta. I'm never letting them slaughter you. No one deserves to live out their life more than you."

It took a second for what his older brother was implying to sink in, but the moment it did, Peeta shot up straight, ignoring his back's protests at the sudden motion. He frantically shot a hand out to grasp his brother's arm imploringly. The disconcerted desperation colored his fifteen-year-old baritone into a near wail.

"You can't volunteer for me, Rye! Do you understand me? You can't! I could never live with myself knowing I'm here and you're there because of me! That's worse than dying for me! Please! Promise you will _never_ do that to me! If you care about me at all, promise me you'll never take my place if I'm called! Promise me, Rye!" Tears of plead were streaming freely down his face by the time he finished speaking.

Unwittingly, moisture cut a track down the older blonde's cheek as he made his unvoiced promise, shutting his eyes tight, bringing their foreheads together while wiping away at the tears from his baby brother's cheeks with both hands.

He let out a shuddering breathe, his voice filled with self-deprecation. "I don't even know how something as good as you could come from her. I can understand how someone like _me_ did but not _you_. You're just so… I don't even have a word for you, man- and we both know that is no small feat for the likes of us!" Peeta couldn't help let out a small laugh at that. "And even if neither of us is ever drawn, you intend to be my watch dog for the rest of your life, don't you? How fair is that? How fair is it that you were forced to learn how to take down someone you care about because you're afraid of what they're capable of when they lose control?"

The younger boy scrutinized his older brother's face for a moment then smiled, shaking his head incredulously. When he spoke, it was in an authoritative manner that left no room for argument. "First of all, you're nothing like Mom, Rye. You were just blessed with the misfortune of inheriting her temper and poor control thereof. But you have tried so hard since you were little to control it, Rye. You hate yourself for being that way. We all know you do. You wouldn't be beating yourself up so hard about what you did at the competition if you weren't a good person. You don't see Mom in here checking up on me, do you? You're a decent guy. You just tend to be a jerk and you've got one heck of a mean streak in you that being raised by an abusive parent isn't exactly helping."

The older teen let out an amused snort as the younger blonde resumed his prone position on the bed, letting out a sigh of relief when his brother pressed the compress back to the bruise. "About my wrestling as a means to keep up with you… yes, I do it as an assurance that I could take you on if need be. It didn't start out that way, though. When I was ten, I just wanted to learn how to stop you from bullying me. You really were a jerk, you know." His older brother let out a hardy cackle at that. "Now, I don't go to practice because of you anymore. I do it _for_ you."

When his brother sent him a confused look, Peeta elaborated. "You sometimes need someone around to help diffuse you before you do something you'll regret later, though you _are_ getting better at doing it yourself. I think it's just coming to you slowly with age. I won't be your 'watchdog', as you say, forever but I don't care to tag along for a little while, you know- while you're figuring it out. Believe me, Flax and I _do not_ need Peacekeepers arresting you or anything. However, I really believe you would never hit your own kids or raise a hand to a girl. You've shown yourself to be better than that already… better than Mom."

A gentle smile crept across the Mellark middle child's face as he brought up his free hand to ruffle his little brother's ash colored hair fondly, replying gratefully, "It's true what Flax says about you. You're something special."

Crossing both arms over his pillow and propping his chin up on his interwoven fingers, Peeta faced the wall introspectively as he thought about that. He didn't bother turning when the musing struck and a devilish grin split his august features. "Also, Rye… don't forget I'm the better kisser…"

In the blink of an eye, the pillow was wrested form under Peeta's arms, Rye using it to smother him.

_FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> I reiterate that this will be very short. If there's anything you would like to read about Peeta's brothers, this is the fic to speak your mind. My readers are very important to me. I take suggestions very seriously as long as they stay within cannon and within the T rating.


End file.
